


The Sith

by JAvatar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, Loss, Mary Sue, Sadism, Slavery, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 13:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 156,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAvatar/pseuds/JAvatar
Summary: Set in Star Wars: The Old Republic era. The story starts five years after the Treaty of Coruscant, and five years before the start of the MMORPG. It is primarily about a Jedi, Pimm, and her interactions with a Sith, Ja'on.





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes to the reader:
> 
> Yes. Especially in the beginning, I know Ja'on is very much a Mary Sue. It DOES get explained.
> 
> And, my views on the Force throughout the work, are based on the Legends (or whatever it is called now..everything pre-Disney) written materials instead of games, in that the Light and Dark sides of the Force are less "good/bad" and more "order/chaos" in regards to motivation. Multiple times "good" characters used "dark" powers for non-dark reasons, with no effect on them. The "hard" division of good/evil really came about with video games (The Jedi Knight series) and when WotC acquired rights to the table top RPG. And it makes sense to have hard-coded rules saying this way or that, for game balance and everything. But, the Force was more than a simple coin of good vs evil, and you'll see that throughout the work.
> 
> Pronunciation: Junath is Juh-neth.
> 
> Finally, this is me experimenting with AO3, so please bare with me as I figure out how to format everything just right.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting between Pimm, a Jedi working on her Knighthood, and Ja'on, a Sith Lord. And here, we learn, things aren't always as they first appear.

The klaxons had been sounding for near fifteen minutes now, the red warning lights illuminating the frigate in waves up and down the corridors. When the engines had died, all aboard felt the sickening slow list as the ship just drifted instead of the familiar hum under their feet, and that ever-so-gentle push of forward thrust.

The twi'lek paced, slowly, in the forward hold. The ship held just over eighty republic marines, the ship Captain and crew, and four-hundred passengers. And the red-skinned woman could feel them all. Fear dancing on her senses. Commitment. And then, there was the cargo.

They had violated the Treaty of Coruscant. There was no doubt of this. They had penetrated deep in Imperial space. A squad had taken a small shuttle to land on the planet. Armed to the teeth, they had returned in record time, though, every weapon they had cold. She had overheard the debrief of the extraction itself, "We didn't fire a single shot. No guards, and every door was open."

She stopped pacing, and took a slow, deep breath. "There is no emotion, There is only peace." She slowly started reciting the Jedi Code, knowing what her Master would say. It had taken months to get used to that word's new meaning to her, her hand subconsciously moving to the brand still in her skin. She had been saved from slavery by the Jedi, and found, of all things, to be sensitive. But controlling her emotions had always been hard. And with that....thing....coming right towards her, she knew she needed the calm over the anger.

She had felt the tremor, far enough away to tell her it was outside the ship. But close enough to be a threat. Then the engines had died. That presence was closer, on board, obviously having disabled the frigate. That's when the alarms started. That's when the red washed through corridors. The Captain's voice over the ship-wide intercom, "All passengers, to your quarters. Clear the corridors and common rooms. Squads Alpha and Charlie, to shuttle bay four." Then, one her private comm, "Master Jedi, it is a Sith. He is here to reclaim the cargo. He'll have to get through Bay Diego to reach it, please wait there." So she did, and that tremor got closer, minute by minute. She could feel the hot discharges of laser, feel the fear and chaos of battle, and every passing minute, another life blinked out, and that wave of energy got stronger. Madder. There was something else, but she couldn't place it. The Sith felt...something....with each life he took, but she had no clue what it was.

The Twi'lek drew her saber from her belt, practicing her breathing, calming herself. Master Serah urged her, repeatedly, to let go of her anger. Her hurt. But not once did the older woman's guidance feel like chiding, or scolding. It was always maternal, a desire to help. The human could never understand, of course, what she had gone through, nor did she try to say she did. The pain, the degradation, the drugged state. She almost began to dwell on those thoughts, but shook her head clear. That wave of energy was closing in, and that kind of power she knew all too well. Her emotions, her branding and tattoos, they helped the Twi'lek on many occasions, infiltration and information gathering. It gave her an unassuming appearance. She had struck from the shadows, eliminating true threats to the Republic. Slave traders, drug traffickers, gang members. She walked that line, teetering over the abyss of the dark side, ready to consume her, but Master Serah had always remained steadfast, a lifeline to pull her from that hate. The Twi'lek drew from that now, knowing that this was the first Sith she would face. If she could hold onto herself. Because all those years, that training, those memories came uncalled now, knowing the habits expected from her old life. And in spite of the disgust she held for them, they called to her as well. "There is no emotion, there is only peace. There is no ignorance, there is wisdom. There is no passion, there is serenity." That line calmed her, as the last of the chaos from beyond the blast doors finally ebbed into silence, save for that wall of energy. The anger from the Sith, with that other, unknown emotion...Elation?...Sadness? It was such a jumble she couldn't tell, but it was there, getting closer and closer. Her double-bladed saber in hand, she waited, until she felt the doors start to open, he was using the control panel instead of just cutting through. "How polite," she thought to herself with a smirk, raising her empty hand, clenching.

The door started to respond to the controller on the opposite side, then whined as the servos locked from her hold, the metal beginning to crease where the panels met, being forced against each other. That other presence paused, tried again with the panel. A moment of confusion, before she felt..him. It was a male, his mind feeling inside the doors first, then further in, crossing the room, until she felt just the tiniest hint of contact, recognition, then a retreat.

While the presence retreated from the room, the Sith did not. What the Jedi felt, however, confused her. Instead of eagerness, hate, or more anger, his temper seemed to cool, the energies on the other side of that door calming. There was a...pleased anxiousness now. Then, she felt the Force flow, drawing towards him, not unlike a great beast inhaling slowly. That movement stopped, and for a brief instant, there was nothing for anyone or anything, just that perfect moment an instant before a storm breaks out. She felt it, deep inside her head, the scream and power, then she heard the metal screaming in protest, before cracking loudly, the door shattering, pieces flying into the room. She did not move, the debris coming nowhere near her, but that display did unnerve her, just a bit.

She heard him speak, a high baritone voice, with a pleasant timber and lilt. His words matched the mood right before he demolished the door, calm, polite, even pleased. "A Jedi." The dust from the doors filled the room, obscuring him, though she saw no glow of a lit saber. Her eyes widened, just a bit, though at the shadow that moved into the room. Standing well over six feet, closer to seven, he towered over her. No features could be seen, though she saw he was wearing battle robes. "I am glad to see this. I do hope we might be able to have a...civil conversation?" Her temper flared, but stayed well in control. This man had already slaughtered 24 of the troops before reaching her.

He paused as the dust finally settled, seeing her clearly. She was short, even by Twi'lek standard, capping at less than five and a half feet tall, if that. Her red-toned skin and black tattoos visible on face and arms, her own robes better suited for sneaking than straight-up combat, though they were better armored around her torso and abdomen. Her left lek'ku was wrapped around her neck, the right hanging free behind her. However, his eyes did not travel over her form, but locked on her eyes. From all she ever endured, signs of dark side corruption were visible, her irises glowing a soft red.

She could also see him. Tall, thickly built. His body was covered from the neck down in thicker armor, form hugging, with an open robe over it all, cowl up over his head. It hid most of his face, but she saw the glint of metal beneath the shadows, until he reached up, drawing back the hood, exposing a full-head mask. He undid the clasps, removing it, showing to be human. He had a soft chin, but strong jaw. A pointed, narrowish nose, off-set near the bridge, obviously broken at some point. His hair was cropped on the sides, but had a messy swept look, a dark auburn. And his eyes, deep set, were a bright blue. There was no anger in them, nor disgust. In fact, the only emotion she could see in those, backed by the ping of emotion from his mind, was an infuriatingly soft disappointment. "Can we?" His mask held in his left arm, his saber on his belt, right hand empty.

Her lips pulled into a snarl, "A civil conversation? After," she shook as she tried to vocalize, finishing with "THAT? Those troops dead? Either you're a coward, or are too weak to FACE a Jedi." With those words, her contempt surged, pinging him for a bully. Quick to strike anyone weaker, but would not face an equal. This drew his face from (if she were honest with herself) pleasantly handsome, to a cold steely one. That unknown feeling from him surged, and she could feel it now...taste it almost. It was the bitter twist of guilt, with a touch of self-recrimination. "Trying to make me feel like you're upset you SLAUGHTERED them will not make me back down," she all but screamed at him after getting over the initial shock of the sincerity of what she felt.

His own reaction was to stiffen, standing taller, his face further hardening, looking stern, though he showed no signs of anger. Instead he re-donned his mask, voice still polite and calm, but much cooler than before. "Then let me be plain, Jedi. Stand down, let me collect what is in the next cargo bay, which is MINE, and I will not kill you." He, to his credit, in his continued attempt to be civil, still had not drawn his saber.

The Jedi, at this, lifted her own saber, right arm outstretched fully, the shaft of the weapon horizontal. "You will not take one step further," she hissed, thumb flicking the switch. The first blade extended, humming to life, a bright, but deep violet. "Instead, I will fight you here, I will defeat you. I free her from your grasp." His words drew a new level of spite from the Twi'lek, for not only was he a bully, but saw life as property. That poor...no. Not now. Focus on the moment.

The Sith, lowered his own masked chin, body seeming to swell, as he drew the saber from his belt, but did not ignite it. "You fail to understand the situation, Jedi. While I am a patient man, I do have my limits. Stand down."

The twi'lek growled now, flicking the other switch, her second blade humming to life. "I will not just end your threat, Sith! I will break you. I will take your limbs. I will drag you in there, and let her watch as I claim your head. I will show her how little power you have, and that she is now, truly, free!" With those words, her saber was brought to her side, body shifting to a defensive stance, while she reached out with the force, grabbing the largest piece of debris from the destroyed door and launched it at the Sith.

His saber finally flickered to life, the Jedi's eyes widening just a hair at seeing the bright silver blade instead of the blood/ruby red of a synthetic crystal. A flash of light cut the metal cleanly in half, and then her eyes went fully wide as she was forced back, as the Sith had leapt at her, swinging his own saber in a hard vertical slice down, aimed at her head. The movement backwards kept him from plowing into her, but she still needed to bring her saber up to catch his blade, which drew a whimper of pain. The sheer level of force behind his blow threatened to knock her shoulders out of joint.

She held for a moment, then shifted, flowing into a more aggressive stance, throwing his blade to her side, her second sweeping at his feet. He was quick to respond, all but sliding back, looking like he hadn't moved his feet at all, and certainly hadn't jumped. She followed through with another slash, this time high, his own blade clashing with hers, the hisses and screeches as they moved filling the room.

As the seconds passed, the two continued the deadly dance. The Jedi was skilled with her saber, flowing seamlessly between the various forms. Makashi to deflect, Ataru to move and to launch flurries of attacks, and Niman between the others. Yet he met her, blow for blow, dodge for dodge. While most realized that any skilled with the force could push themselves, faster, stronger, there was still much to be said for the body. His bulk gave him strength, but did not slow him down. In spite of her years as a dancer, as a..thing of pleasure, and all the litheness, agility, and flexibility that came with, she could not use that to get past his defenses. He was every bit as agile, and that was before the force focusing through their bodies.

There was one thing during the duel that the Jedi could not get over. He was angry, certainly, but wasn't drawing on it. And in spite of that anger, almost none was directed at her. His blade flashed left then right, deflecting both of her swipes, but left his own blade low. She leapt up, spinning in place, the heel of her booted foot catching him in the chest, a solid crack as he fell back a full three feet, but his balance had not been lost, landing on his feet, saber already moving, thrown hard, spiraling through the air towards her.

She deflected the silver light, then felt the tug, not on her, but some of the debris, flying through the air, catching her in the back, drawing a groan of pain, staggering her as he came back in, pulling his saber from the air, swinging at her neck. She managed to get her second blade up, deflecting and pulling herself into a spin, twin violet blades whirring audibly from the energy. She felt more than saw the flick, his until now empty left hand sliding a blade out of his sleeve. She didn't see it, but felt as it moved to intercept the first beam of energy, and she almost laughed. His knife was maybe eight inches long, with no mechanisms, no vibro motor, nothing. Just a brittle pseudo-ceramic.

She let that little blade connect with her own, continuing through to finish with the second blade. But, unlike her plan, when the two clashed, her saber blades, one after the other, just died, leaving her, for the moment, unarmed. Red eyes went wide as she saw the silver coming for her head, before the light vanished, and his gauntleted fist cracked into her nose, blood spurting, crossing her eyes, and knocking her back. His word, explaining what happened, was cold, "Phrick." Of course. One of the two materials in the known galaxy that a lightsaber couldn't just cut through.

Her saber worthless for the moment, she let herself fall back, shaking her head to clear that pain, before launching into another kick, this one higher, aimed at his head. His right hand, now empty with his saber tossed to the side, caught her ankle. He spun, quickly, and threw her. It was a powerful toss, and she would clear half the cargo bay, but she could control this. But what she hadn't counted on was the grip of energy, and the pull. Her deactivated saber was ripped from her hands, and shot straight to his. As she flew through the air, she watched him grip the two ends after the phrick knife slid back into his sleeve, and start to pull his elbows together. He looked like a person trying to break a stick. For a moment, she almost smiled, touching down hard, but already moving back towards him when the groan of metal hit her, then the snap, and her saber was broken, by hand, in half, the pieces discarded, before his own blade flew back to his hand, reigniting.

The Jedi's approach faltered at that blatant display of power. He had a phrick knife, literally up his sleeve, that could have been used to deactivate her saber at any time. She knew the Force allowed him to snap her saber, but the fact he had that much physical strength to not break instead was frightening. He had matched her every movement. And now, she realized, she was pushing herself to the limit, and he hardly seemed winded. He. Was. PLAYING with her! He stood there as this realization, and the subsequent new anger filled her. Lips pulling into another snarl, eyes glowing with their own inner light, she let out a primal scream of rage. No words, just pure force and emotion. She then reached out, finding any and all debris she could, launching it all at him.

His blade became a near aura of silver, with a black blur guiding it as his arm moved. He slowly started to advance on her as every piece of metal was intercepted and cut. She kept up the movement, bringing the smaller and smaller pieces back, a veritable cyclone of metal swirling around him. When even this did not slow him, she drew on that anger, the deepest part, the pure loathing and despise for him, for what he had done, for branding her, for keeping her drugged, for forcing himself on her over and over...she pulled on this, focusing the energy, and launched it at him.

For most Jedi, this would have been a wave of pure, powerful kinetic energy. Invisible to the eye, save for the disturbance of dust and air, noiseless save for the vacuum collapsing behind it. From her, however, this pulled into a bright, violent, chaotic surge, the air literally igniting, a bolt of lightning arcing at him. His left hand came up to catch that energy, though he didn't deflect it, nor did it wash over him. Instead, it just....balled up for lack of better word. A small sphere of hot ionized plasma in the palm of his hand, her energy drained for that moment, her breath held as he closed his hand, a fist around it, and then squeezed. The ball burst within his grip, a halo of blue around his gauntlet, leaving a little smoke and the acrid smell of electricity. He opened his hand, and she could see it had not damaged him at all, not even scorching the gauntlet’s cloth palm. His voice, still cool, now filled with disappointment, "Really?" Again, the single words. The judgement. He? A murderer? A slave owner?! JUDGING HER?!

She charged him now, refocusing more energy, her arms both crackling with lightning, focusing into her fists, and leapt at him, ready to pummel him to death. With less than a foot to go from launching the first punch, she felt the surge, the push, then all the wind was knocked from her as the wave of Force smashed into her, throwing her back. This was followed by a breathless scream as she smashed into the hold's wall, her back instantly aching from neck to waist, her face coming up just in time to see that blur of silver across black, charging her too fast. Somewhere in the tussle, she realized her lek'ku had unwrapped from her neck, both tails behind her back against cold metal now. She could feel the movement, hear the hum, her neck suddenly hot, eyes closing as though that would protect her.

For a breath, then a second, then a third, the Jedi stayed there, eyes closed, heat on her neck. Had he decapitated her? Was it that fast and painless? In her mind, she shook her head, because she realized she still felt the cool metal on her back, and a warmth against her front. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and saw her position.

The Sith had pinned her, bodily, against the bulkhead. His lightsaber, in his right hand, was high on her, the blade under her chin, almost against her neck. The distance between her flesh and that death would require a micrometer to measure, but held perfectly steady. His left arm was against her stomach, pinning her arms. She could feel a point of pressure as well, his short blade drawn again, the tip against the soft spot in her armor, ready to thrust up into her chest under her ribs. His left leg was against her thighs, his waist shifted so that even if she hadn't been pinned, his privates would be protected from an errant knee. She could feel that anger in him, still, but even now it felt...wrong.

He was mad, but it wasn't hateful. She could feel only part of it directed at her, at the Republic, but a good portion was directed at himself. Minus the slow, steadying breaths he took, he was silent. She knew he could kill her, twice, if she tried anything. While she did not fear death (for There is no Death, there is only the Force), she was not ready to leave the mortal coil. So as he stayed there, she did not move. It was amusing, actually, that in spite of his pressure and presence against her, he wasn't pressing against her breasts, his leg not against her pelvis. The temptation to laugh almost overpowered her, but she managed to hold that back.

She moved her head, as much as she dared, to raise her eyes to his mask. It was locked on her head, and she could all but feel those eyes piercing her. This, more than anything, unnerved her. Silent, frozen gaze, and in spite of her defenses, had been able to completely and totally overpower her. She knew, beyond anything else, if she resisted here, pushed him, tried to use the Force, she would die. But as the breaths continued, dragging on, she felt more and more uneasy, completely uncertain to his motives. His own mood, by contrast, seemed to calm further and further. Finally, she broke, the proximity of his lightsaber forcing her to whisper, not moving her head, "Why?" That one word carried much behind it though. _‘Why attack?’ ‘Why am I alive?’ ‘Why aren't you angry?’_

He stayed still for only one breath after her question, his voice measured, still cool, but that steely edge, that disappointment, was missing. "I didn't want to attack at all. I even requested the frigate's captain to just turn over the cargo." His de-humanizing of the person in the next hold drew more anger from her, but she bit her tongue, though the acid still came out when she trusted herself to speak, "SHE isn't just cargo! And why would I believe that?" The burst quickly subsided though, as she pushed herself back against the wall.

He looked at her for a moment, then she felt the movement. His knife retracted into his sleeve, and he gave her some room, pulling his body back. Her legs were still pinned, and her neck still far too close for comfort to that silver beam of energy, but her arms were freed. The Sith pulled out a datapad from an inner pouch of his robes, holding it up. She could feel the force pull a bit, and he activated it. A holographic image manifested, the Sith, maskless....and Captain Ondan. A quick glance showed the digital time stamp...this was moments before the ship started to list.

The Sith spoke quietly, "Captain, this is Lord Junath(Juh-neth), in the Jade Eagle." She could hear the murmur of the flight crew in the background. "You have violated the Treaty of Coruscant, invaded Imperial Space. I know that your manifest is almost all civilians, but you do have a company of marines as well. I also have proof of a squad landing on Dromund Kaas, in MY home, and stealing things from me."

The captain's image turned, "Cut the feed, and get us out of here." The Sith lifted his hand, and the feed did not die. He continued in the calm, collected voice, "I have frozen your comm officer and pilots, Captain. You will hear what I have to say. I only want what you took, back. I have grounds and rights to go to the Dark Council, and the Imperial Admiralty, and this would be sufficient breach to restart the open war. This, however, is not an outcome I desire. I will not leave without what you took, Sir, but nor am I in the mood to kill. If you simply lower your shields, open the shuttle bay closest to where she is, I will board, collect, and leave. And no one in the Empire will know otherwise." His hand lowered, and chatter resumed, though subdued. "What do you say?"

The captain looked at the image for a moment, then reiterated. "I said, shut off that comm and get us out of here!" he screamed, his face ugly with anger and fear, and the recording of the communications stopped.

The Sith looked at the Jedi, who seemed to shrink. What he had said in the recording was accurate. The incursion, the collection of the woman in the next bay, that would be enough to ignite open war, and yet he had tried to prevent that. A second recording started up, the stamp the moment after the engines had died.

The recording of Junath spoke, still soft, but edge in his voice. "I have now disabled your ship, Captain. I am patient, but do have my limits. But I still do not wish an open incident, so I did the least damage I could. I used Ionic Torpedos," and he was cut off by an off-recording voice, a heavy accent, sounding Mantellian, "Ionic Torpedos? What are those?" The Captain turned away, "Shut your mouth, Johnson!" Junath spoke, though, to answer, "A device of my making. Imagine a dreadnaught class Ion cannon's output, in a proton torpedo warhead. No physical damage, but wreaks havoc on systems. I fired two, the first shutting down your shields. The second, your engines."

He took a slow breath, and continued, "With the engines you have, some of the best engineers will have you up and running in forty-five minutes. If they aren't the best, closer to ninety. Your shield scrubbers will come up on their own in ninety-five minutes. I have more than ample time to board, and collect what you took. I implore you, Sir," the image leaned forward, his voice sincere, "Listen to me. If you comply, I will leave you completely unharmed. I will not call in the fleet. I have no desire for a full incident. I just want her back. If you wish, send marines to escort me. They can even draw their weapons, and I will not attack. However," he leaned back, voice cooling, "I will defend myself if attacked. I do not wish to have anyone lose their lives today, Captain. Please, comply. I am approaching," he looked to the side, obviously reading ship displays, "Shuttle Bay Four. At the least, have your marines clear of there to the cargo bay. At most, have them escort me. By the Force, bring her TO the bay yourself, and I'll load and leave. But I am not leaving, without her."

At this, the feed died, and he tucked his data pad into his pocket. The Jedi was torn as Junath stared at her. He sounded so...sincere in the feed. Concerned. But, there were still twenty-four dead troopers. She was struck with thought, quiet, thinking. Something didn't add up. As intense as their fight was, as much back and forth that happened, it still lasted only three minutes. Shuttle bay four was maybe, at a slow walk, five minutes away. Certainly combat would slow a person down, but not from five to twenty minutes. She slowly rose her eyes to his again, "Why did it take so long to get here?"

Her words did, well, something to him. Much of the tension in his body faded, the rigidity melting a bit, though he did not pull away from her. "I tried, with every squad, every individual, every single one of them. I asked them to stand down. Just let me through. Not one did. While I could freeze them, I couldn't control everyone. I tried to incapacitate. Knock unconscious. Even those I did subdue, they fought back, or their fellows roused them." As he spoke, she could feel his guilt growing in his stomach, the tension of regret filling his body. "Every single one of them." He was quiet, "They fought with honor, but they fought when they didn't need to Jedi." He fell silent, still watching her, waiting for her move.

Her eyes darted from him to the back door, the one leading to the woman, 'his' cargo. She brought them back, the confusion in her voice. "Why is she so important? Why must you pursue her?!" Her anger started to flare, her own body clenching, wanting to strike out, though she felt exhausted. "Is one slave, in spite of what she can do, that important?!" Her breathing was shallow, afraid of pushing herself into his blade.

Instead of anger, or a strike, or even a statement, he stepped back, the hiss of his saber turning off loud, and he just watched her. He hung his hilt on his belt, regarded her for a long moment, then softly said, "If you really want to know, follow me." With that, he turned, robe billowing, and he set off, his boots clicking on the durasteel floor, ominous, his stride that with purpose, though she did see it ease off, not so strong, not so powerful, but by no means timid, as he reached, and opened the door.

The Jedi followed after a moment's hesitation. She may not be able to stop him, but she could make him regret his actions if he attacked the woman. The lights in the second cargo hold were low, the room empty save for the contraption in the middle. It was a large contraption, not unlike a kolto-tank. But it was attached to far more equipment than a normal tank, life controls, sedatives, data ports. The tank itself was only about half filled with the liquid, and in it, the woman.

She was a Mirialan, skin a deep green, with patterned tattoos on her face. She wore very little, just enough to be covered, but there was nothing titillating about her appearance. Just being in the room, the Jedi felt the unease, the pain, from the one in the tank. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, and that there were holes in her body. All coming from the Mirialan, due to the cybernetics. Spine, arms, head, legs, torso, neck, face...there wasn't a part of her body that wasn't violated. She was currently sedated, brain injected directly(one of the implants) letting her sleep, which was the least amount of pain she could feel, but even there, turned off, she still projected her pain. She wasn't fully submerged in the stuff, just most of the way, body resting in a chair. It was all set to help limit her pain, but nothing ended it fully. The jedi watched Junath approach the tank, the light inside it brightening softly at his proximity, illuminating the green-skinned woman. He reached up, unlatching and removing his mask, and his gauntlets, placing them all on the ground. The Twi'lek did notice a tattoo on his hand as he reached up, pressing the palm against the glass. There was a soft pulse of energy, the machinery turning on, the woman's eyes fluttering softly as the sedative wore off.

As the Milian's eyes opened, and focused on him, the Jedi could hear his voice, soft, tender, and....loving? Like he was waking up a lover in his bed, "Good morning love." The Jedi almost snorted with laughter, but that was frozen in her throat as the Mirialan smiled, the machinery in the tank coming to life. The chair split, turning into a cradle, moving the woman so she didn't have to support herself, reacting to her thoughts. She came to the glass, in front of Junath, raising her own hand to press against the glass against his. "Hello Ja'on," she responded. Then, a soft confusion filled her face, "What are you doing here?"

"Mira, do you know where here is? The Republic came. They abducted you." His voice was soft, not chiding or speaking to one he saw as an inferior, but tender and clarifying, in case the sedative had prevented her from knowing. "I don't know how they found you, but they did. The squad was off post, Cipher was at Intelligence. When I find out why Genna was not there, she will be punished." A bubbling anger was rising in him, but it was very far from the normal idea behind a Sith. This stemmed, the Twi'lek realized, from the fact that Mira had been abducted. "And when I figure out who leaked the intel on you," his body began to tense, though the jedi saw Mira's face, the growing guilt in it, before Ja'on looked up and noticed it. His voice shifted, anger gone, just confusion, "What is it Mira?"

The Mirialan tried to smile, but her eyes glistened softly as she fought back her tears. Her voice hitched as she spoke, "Ja'on, I...I told them." The Sith was watching her face, and the Jedi could feel the grip in his chest. He was silent, though the tears began to fall from Mira's eyes. "I told them. I found SIS, started making contact. It was slow, but...Ja'on I can't do this." She looked away, though he pressed closer to the tank, drawing back her gaze. His voice was soft, "But...why?"

The Twi'lek cleared her throat, "What we wer...." she trailed off as his attention shifted towards her. There was a deep stabbing anger there, still a far cry from the consuming rage the Sith were known for, that she had experienced, but enough to make her fall silent.

Mira moved her other hand, drawing Ja'on's attention back to her, "SIS and the Jedi, once they believed me, set this up. I'm going to their Council, or whatever they call themselves. They will have their best healers, with skilled surgeons. They're going to fix me. Pull out the implants. The cybernetics." The Twi'lek did smile at this, as it seemed to deflate the Sith.

When he spoke, his voice had grown husky, thick, and yet another surprise to the Jedi, pained. "But why didn't you tell me?" Mira chuckled softly, "If I had, others could have found out. No one knew." He shook his head, "But...why not before I left? I would have stayed. Come with you!" The Twi'lek's eyes went wide at that. Not that he said it, but that, in his deepest core, he meant it. "I would have surrendered. Come with. Just so I could be with you." Mira laughed now, softly, "You know that...wouldn't....work..." her eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. Her voice became a little hollow, "I'm not going to make it."

It was his turn to laugh now, "Of course you are love! We invested so much in this system. The tech is spreading to others, the medics already using it with some of the worst cases! There's plenty of power!" His voice trailed off as he watched her, and that grip in his chest came back, with a drop in his stomach. "Why wouldn't you make it?" The Twi'lek's attention at the tender couple was drawn in further by this.

Mira was unfocused, then blinked, looking at Ja'on. "The plan, to reach the temple. It's not happening. I'll be declared dead in transit, and then taken to a facility, and......and plugged....plugged in." Tears now fell freely from her eyes, fear, pain, her body trembling. "All the time." He shook his head a couple times, "No...that's not right." He started to tense, body clenching, "Are you sure?" Mira nodded, whispering, "verified" as the computer beeped softly, _< data download complete.>_

Ja'on swallowed, for one breath, then a second, there seemed to be nothing. Then the Twi'lek's own breath locked in her chest, unable to draw, body trembling. She thought her eyes were going screwy, the scene in front of her blurring, but she realized it was not her eyes, but his own aura. The energy collecting, flowing, dense enough to blur light. That growing dread in her body spiked, turning into pure fear as that anger in him, powerful, boiling, dangerous focused on her. His head turned, slowly, skin pulled into a grimace of pure hate, the bright blue eyes having shifted to yellow, with red spiking from the pupils through the irises. THAT was the anger she was used to, and the spike in his power from that anger was threatening to choke the life from her, even without him actually touching her. She tried to deny what the Mirialan said, that it wasn't true, that if it was she didn't know. The urge to throw herself onto her knees, prostrating herself in front of him overwhelming. And she knew, even if she could, she was going to suffer, and die.

As he continued to turn towards her, Mira thumped the glass, frantic, "Not her! She doesn't know!" That horrible feeling gripped the Jedi for a breath longer, then left, his eyes fading back to blue, before turning back to the mirialan, who smiled, softly, nodding. "No one does. It was recent. The only one on ship that knows is the captain. One general, and two senators know. That's it."

He thought quietly, breathing, that anger still dangerously close to the surface, though the Jedi was able to breath, falling to her knees. "I will make them take you to the jedi," he finally said, the Twi'lek surprised even further, but Mira shook her head. "That...won't work. The general already knows. If you are on board, love, you will be met with a force even you can't overcome." He shook at this, looking at her, his voice a plea, "Then come home." Mira's face pulled into one of anguish at the plea, the torn desire to be with him, with the need to be away from what she was, causing a physical pain, tears falling down her face. "I....can't....." she sobbed, softly, "P..please?"

His anger faded, gone in an instant, filled with a cold fear. "No! No-no-no-no-no! Please, please don't ask me that!" Fear and pain from him stabbing through the Jedi's heart. "I..I can't! I can't lose you too! Please, please don't." His voice was shaking hard, body trembling, Mira pressed against the glass, sobbing softly herself. "But I can't do this Ja'on!"

He rested his head on the tank, body shuddering with each breath even as Mira sobbed softly. "I'm su-su-sorry, Ja'on," she got out, and the Jedi felt his insides go cold, a pit opening, threatening to consume him. She knew that pit all too well, it called to her often. It could be so easy to slip, to fall in, to let it consume you. And it was eating him from the inside. But, he pushed back, lifted his face, and the Twi'lek could literally hear his smile, "It's ok Mira. I....I know." The Mirialan returned the smile, anguish and understanding on it. The Jedi watched, frozen, as Ja'on, Lord Junath, the Sith Lord who tried to politely have his love handed back, was building himself up, heartbeat after heartbeat. For her, he was going to let her go, in spite of his own desire. "I....I want to hold you, Mira." The Mirialan blinked softly, then nodded the mechanisms pulling her back. The Twi'lek watched, silent, unsure what was going to happen, as Ja'on took a deep breath. Then, there was the sound of...something. It sounded like a foot stepping in deep, crunching snow.

The next moment, Mira was completely obscured. The glass of the tank had spider-webbed, then another crunch and another. Soon, the tank looked like frosted glass, completely opaque, just letting light through, with one final crunch. For a perfect instant, the Jedi could see the glass start to fall apart, trillions of grains, almost too small to see or feel. Then, the energy holding them faded, a flurry of snow exploding, the wash of fluid exploding out and down. As the particles settled, and the fluid drained, she could see Ja'on holding Mira, cradling her, the machinery disconnected. He sat on the floor of the tank, before the Jedi and Mira both screamed. Without the cradle, the fluids, or the sedatives from the machine, nothing stopped the pain, nothing reduced it. The Jedi could feel feet upon feet of synthetic nerves, wires, implants deeper in the body, the mirialan's brain screaming, before quiet and coolness. Once the Twi'lek could focus her eyes, she saw Ja'on stroking Mira's head, feel the Force he wielded soaking into her head, disabling her pain center. Her breathing already growing shallower.

Her head cradled against his right shoulder, his left hand stroking her, the two's eyes meeting, both crying silently. Then she saw their hands. Mira's left hand had found his right, they were clasped, and she realized the odd tattoo on his hand...connected...to hers. They were not lovers. Not slave and Master. They were married, by Mirialan custom! "I am...so...sorry Mira. That they found out. That I wasn't home when they took you. That I couldn't make them release you. I....." She reached up, brushing his lips with her finger, silencing him, voice tender, though weak, "I know you are love. And I never, once, blamed you. Not before. Not after. And certainly not now." She had to try and take four or five breaths to catch her breath, and the Twi'lek could feel his urge to heal her. To keep her. But he did not.

"Ju....just promise me, Ja'on," she said, struggling to speak now, as the Twi'lek felt her organs failing one after another. She knew that he felt it too, and knew he could heal her. He had that power. To save her life now. But he could not fix her body, end her pain, except by letting her go or damning her to another tank. "Promise me...you'll...you'll try?" He slid his hand through her short hair now, palm along her scalp, and they both seemed to vanish, though not in the physical sense. Instead, their minds, their energies, their souls as it were, were dimmed. The Twi'lek blinked, and focused, and time seemed to slow to a standstill, the few particles of the tank still in the air suspended in their downward drift. And there, Ja'on and Mira stood, in a field? Trees in the background, the sun of Mirial warm on them, the two in an embrace, his arms around her waist, hers around his neck. The Twi'lek could hear the laughter in her voice, "You know I don't like this." She lifted herself to kiss his nose, "Normally." His own voice warm, soft, "I'm just not ready, love." She nodded, understanding. "I know, promise me. That you'll try, try at the very least. Try to stay true to yourself?" He swallowed in response, and then nodded, all he could do. She lifted herself more, wrapping her legs around his waist, the two kissing, deeply, passionately, and the Jedi felt discomfort. He knew she was watching, but was not going to break his moments with his wife to scold her. The Twi'lek pulled back, time speeding back up for her.

For the Jedi, it was only two minutes, but who knew how much time they shared in those seconds. Finally she felt one life end, looking up, still on her knees. The mirialian's body was limp in his arms, eyes open, but a peaceful smile on her face. She could hear something whirring in her, then the clink of metal on metal. An implant had fallen out of her neck, laying in the fluid still sitting in the tank. A few seconds later, he stirred, looking at his dead wife. He carefully, slowly, closed her eyes, then moved himself, laying her down, crossing her arms over her chest. "The most peace she's been in...in a...." he didn't finish, instead picking up the implant and stowing it in his pocket.

He then stood, slowly, fully, looking at the Jedi. That pit of coldness still inside him, threatening to consume him. His grief was palpable, she could literally feel it on her skin. Under that, anger. That same, dark, horrible anger from before. He finally began to move, and she saw that before his feet touched the ground, the the fluid washed away, leaving dry deck for each step. She was still on her knees, looking up at him, fear starting to grip her body again, along with a passing urge, memories saying this was right, but that was squashed quickly. She scrambled to her feet, backing up, and hitting a support strut, her back against metal as he was within arm's reach. Words finally reached her, "Please! Please, I swear on everything, I did NOT know that was the MMMph!" Her voice was cut off as his hand gripped her face, palm over her lips, thumb under her jaw, closing it tight. She felt how strong his grip was, felt the tremble of barely contained pain in his hand, but did also realize he did not close her nose, that her jaw wasn’t being compressed.

For two slow breaths, he just looked at her, blue eyes locked on hers, grief deep in them, and she felt, truly felt, for the man. He had been stuck in the most horrible of choices, and took the, by far, hardest one. Sacrificed his happiness, for her peace. Even she couldn't say she would have been able to do that. Her own eyes betrayed her, tears falling from them, streaking slowly down her cheeks. She reached up with one hand, slowly, open palm, and touched him, stroking his face softly, wiping his own tears. She hoped he understood her actions, and did not think her mocking him. One last breath, and he spoke, voice tight, no warmth in it. "The remaining troops are filling the corridor. If you value their lives," he leaned a little closer, that anger so close to exploding, "You will contact the captain and make him clear them out." He released her face, and the pain hit her, his grip not bruising her, but it had made the skin fall asleep, and now pins and needles across her cheeks and lips. She winced at the sensation, but moved quickly to the comm as Ja'on moved to the terminal of the machine, datapad out, downloading whatever the computer had announced.

Her voice was rushed, realizing that while the Sith wasn't about to hunt anyone down, he would kill any and everyone that got in his way. "Captain, this is Jedi Pimm." His voice was haughty, "Oh, so you managed to kill that bast..." She cut him off, her own anger growing, "No. He completely overwhelmed me. And he KNOWS what you had planned with his WIFE." She could hear the comm go from speaker to a private, though the chatter of the crew could still be heard, "Watch your mouth, Twi'lek. You may be a Jedi, but I can still ma..." Again she cut him off, "No, you shut your mouth. He knew. SHE knew. And she begged him to let her die. And now, he is ready to kill everyone." She glanced over her shoulder at the Sith, who was donning his gauntlets and mask. "Have the marines CLEAR the damn corridors, or he will kill them. If they are gone, he will just leave!" There was a moment before, "Then you best be in front of those men when he starts swinging, scum." Then the comm went dead, and she could feel the spike behind her, the anger growing and the desire to make others hurt like he was hurting, taking one step back towards his ship.

She ran, getting in front of him, arms wide. Of course, it was pointless, he could walk around her, or move her. But he paused, looking at her. "Please, ummmm," she was stalled for the moment, unsure what to call him, to which he said, "Ja'on." She nodded, "Ja'on, please. I know, I know you don't want to kill those men. But I know you will. Please, let me go? I know the lieutenant! I can make HIM understand. Please!" For four heartbeats he was frozen, before a very slight incline of his head. "Two minutes." She was already moving.

As Pimm ran through the two cargo bays, she saw the damage she had missed before. Lightsaber gouges in the floors, the debris now cut to pebbles or dust. The dent. She actually paused, looking at the durasteel wall. The dent was the right size, the gouge in the wall the right height. It's where she had been thrown, and pinned. She swallowed, and continued, through the destroyed door. Now, she was in the corridors, seeing the aftermath of the assault. The bodies were still there. She had to admit, not a single dead trooper had been attacked from behind. She felt, with certainty, if they had tried to retreat, they would have lived. But now, even that would not happen, and she needed the Lieutenant to get that. She skidded to a halt at a corner, her back on the wall, and called out, "Ackerack! ACKERACK! It's Pimm!" A comm clicked on, "Master Pimm? How did you...stand down men!" When she felt the thirty guns lowered, she finally came around the corner. Without her saber, she would be hard pressed to survive that onslaught, but she knew it would barely phase Ja'on in his current mood.

She ran up to Lt. Ackerack, C.O. of Havoc squad. "Ackerack, you need to withdraw, now!" The armored man shook his helmeted head, laughing, a dry noise. "We can't. The enemy has boarded our ship, killed two squads of our fellows. If we retreat..." Pimm grabbed the man's chestplate, pulling him down to her level, all but screaming in his face. "We are in HIS space! We kidnapped his WIFE. I will explain after, but if your men are here, he will kill you ALL!" She swallowed, dryly, knowing her minutes were almost up. "Hide. Get out of sight. He will NOT hurt anyone if you do!" The marine looked at her for a few, too many, seconds, and everyone felt the wave. It was like a wash of energy, but not felt by the body, instead felt in the emotions. Dread. Impending doom. Even Pimm shuddered at the sensation. "You have MAYBE a minute before he's at that corner, Ackerack. MOVE your men!" He watched her for one second, then nodded, the external comm gone, as he relayed orders over the interior comms. As a unit, all the soldiers vanished into the various doors, down the corridor behind their C.O., and otherwise gone. Only he stayed, Pimm breathing hard, "You too! ALL of you." He simply shook his head, for three seconds stayed silent, then the comm clicked back on.

"I have a duty to execute, Master Jedi. My sworn duty. Please, trust me, ok?" She shook her head, before they heard the tap-tap of boots on steel, coming down the corridor where she had come from. The soldier, armed with a rifle and sidearm, lowered his weapon, left hand on the barrel, but right up and off the weapon entirely. Finally the end of the corridor shadowed, then Ja'on was there, frozen. Pimm felt that wash, that darkness within him clawing its way up, and his saber snapped to life. She tried to stand in front of the soldier, but he used his free hand to rest on her shoulder, and push her to the side, then held up, "I have one question for you," he said, as Ja'on approached, silent, save for the ominous tap-tap-tap of his boots. Ackerack froze, she felt the fear, the realization of how horribly overpowered he, and his men, were, but he pressed on. "Master Sith, please, one question." Ja'on's body hunched a bit, left arm clenching, and Pimm could feel the energy coursing, and smell the ozone shift as the energy began to crackle. Ackerack took a step back, his voice breaking, "Please! Are you going to attack the civies?"

This, this stopped him. He didn't move forward, nor did he relax. His voice was tight, still hurting, but Pimm shivered at the level of anger he managed in one word, one question, "What?" Ackerack didn't lower his hand, careful to not even remotely look like he was going to bring his hand to the rifle. "The civilians on this ship. Master Pimm said if you were unopposed, you were going to leave. But, I have a sworn duty to protect them. I am willing, and WILL, lay my life on the line, to protect them." The helmet dipped, just a bit, and Pimm knew he was being deferential to the Sith, "But that's all. If you will not attack, I will of course leave. If you permit, I will even accompany to ensure no one else bothers you. But I need to know."

Pimm's eyes were locked on the dark mask, feeling the conflicting emotions and thoughts in the Sith. Finally, he straightened, the electricity fading from his arm, silver blade hissing off. "No. I already am making parents, siblings, and loved ones having to bury theirs. That was too much to begin with. I have no desire or intent to add further to that." Ackerack nodded, "Thank you, if yo..." and he trailed off as Ja'on tilted his head, as though hearing something, before turning fully as one side door burst open, a young troop burst through the door, blaster raised at the Sith, though he was shaking. "Private Darreck! What are you doing?" The young man stayed there, trembling, staring into the emotionless mask of the sith, not moving. Pimm felt another stab from Ja'on, his emotions so jumbled that she didn't know what he felt.

Ackerack tried again, "Darreck! I gave the order to stand down! What in blue blazes are you doing?" The young man, no more than eighteen or nineteen stayed rooted in his spot, but his voice, shaking and breaking, did respond, "The captain, Sir. He said if I didn't get out here and stop the......" he swallowed as Ja'on's head dipped, freezing the insult the boy was going to repeat, "Stop him from leaving, I would be court martialed." Ackerack's anger started to rise. "That schutta!" Ja'on now spoke, his voice low, "In the Empire, a troop can be court martialed for failing to die in the line of duty. But I didn't realize the Republic had gone that far." Pimm shook her head, "We haven't!" Ja'on's gaze drifted, then stepped to the side. The blaster followed, but still didn't fire, but this gave Pimm and Ackerack full view of Darreck. Ja'on continued, "Son, how did the Captain contact you?"

The private shifted his own gaze between the three, the question startling him. He stammered, "P-private comm." The Sith nodded, and hung his saber on his belt, and started to reach into his robe. Pimm felt it, and Ackerack realized it, both screaming "No!" as time seemed to slow down. The crack from the pistol echoed in the hall, the flare of red illuminating the corridor. Pimm reached forward, the Force flowing from her to wrap around Ja'on as Ackerack rose and primed his rifle. Before either could do that, the Sith had risen his left hand, the laser bolt smashing into it, smoke rising, but no damage to him. Then his hand clenched, and the pistol was ripped from the private's grip. As Pimm's energy wrapped around Ja'on finally, she felt he had no other plans, just looking at the Private, Ackerack ready but not firing. All were frozen in that moment, before Ja'on finished his initial movement, pulling out his data pad.

Darreck was shaking softly, as Ja'on spoke, "Bring me your comm." When the private didn't move, Ackerack spoke up, "Do as he says, Private." His tone was calm, almost soothing, and this drove the young man into action. He approached the Sith, pulling out his comm device. Ja'on took it, syncing it to the datapad. "XK-100. Good model. Encryption, decent range. And, stores up to the last five open-to-close comms. Can't be accessed directly, of course," he started to fiddle with the pad, "But the right software can extract the data." Then, and audio file began to play, and Pimm's eyes went wide, realizing what was happening. The audio was very clearly Captain Ondan threatening the life and career of the poor boy. When it ended, the Sith handed back the comm.

Ja'on took the blaster now, handing it to the boy. "You had good aim, but poor marksmanship. Take it, turn around, let me show you." The private looked confused, but an encouraging nod from the Lieutenant made him comply, aiming at the blank wall. Ja'on put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You are squared, which isn't bad, but gives a wide profile, meaning a bigger target." He turned Darreck's shoulders, breaking the frame, lowering the width. "Keep your pistol arm straight, good. Now, either use your other hand as a support on the grip, yes like that. Or, if you have other tac-gear, hold it in hand, and support your gun wrist. Yes." The private was mirroring the words, and Pimm could feel an appreciation from the C.O. The advice was sincere, real, and valuable. "Now finally, take your finger off the trigger. No, take it off. Place it on the guard instead. Never put your finger on the trigger unless you are READY to fire. Think, if I had been a surrendering pirate, or a scared civie, you would have killed me. Instead, on the guard. When you need to fire, simply pull back, let the tip fall onto the trigger, then follow through with the squeeze." After a few attempts, Darreck had it, and Ja'on patted his shoulder, turning to face the other two.

As he approached them, Pimm spoke, quietly, "All that evidence is great, but I don't have anything secure to copy it onto." He thrust the pad into her hands, to her shock, his voice tight, "Keep it." He walked past her and the Lieutenant, and up the corridor. There was a thud as the private just collapsed, Ackerack running over, Pimm left watching Ja'on. He was Sith. A powerful one. And yet when the woman he loved couldn't live, he let her go, for her own peace. It broke him. He grieved, he raged, but he let her go, and didn't fall. She...on the other hand. Had been helpless, powerless, and now a Jedi. Master Serah was talking about this. Always. Fresh tears on her face, a sense of shame at her inability to listen to the only mother and sister she had ever known, seeing the proof that one can grow beyond their pain, and from one who supposedly relished in those emotions. She knew she had much to learn, still, but that, would be for another day.


	2. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice is sought for the fallen.

The frigate finished its slow journey to Coruscant. Twelve hours later, it fell out of hyperspace. Lieutenant Ackerack kept the remaining soldiers and marines in the cargo and shuttle bays, as Captain Ondan stayed on the bridge with the ship crew. The passengers themselves braved coming out here and there once the klaxons and red lights had finished. Engineering had the engines back up and running a total of sixty minutes after Lord Junath had boarded, but true to his word, he had not called the imperial fleet on them.

Pimm, still holding the datapad, had quickly gotten into the ship logs, downloading the communications to and from her, as well as maintenance records, showing the lack of damage to the ship itself. Then, she headed back to the cargo bays. Ackerack and Darreck, along with two of the squads, stayed in the bay Pimm had fought him, and she could hear and feel the amazement at the shows of power, even after the fact. The dent, the gouges, the debris, the door literally shattered off its servos. She collected the two halves of her lightsaber, and went into the second bay. Here, there were no troops. Just Mira.

In spite of the grief he felt gripping her, she felt the need to prove it was still a lie. In the moment, the pain, anguish, and anger he felt had locked her up, unable to look past it all, to see if it was a show. She placed the pad on the life support systems of the thing, and started inspecting Mira's body fully. Feet upon feet of her nerves had been replaced with synthetics and wires. Many of the implants were various receivers, some hard-line, others wireless. Cranial Holonet jacks. Augmented reality display for one eye. Internal power supplies. The one implant she inspected most, was the socket now empty from the piece that fell out. It went straight through the Mirialan's neck, the spine itself. The socket didn't have any routing, but had multiple ports aligning top to bottom. She realized that, as it was, her body would have died since the socket didn't connect her brain to, well, anything. The implant that fell out, however, could have connected it all. Forced out, would have killed her. But it had fallen out on its own, after she died.

She felt deeper, and realized the dead woman's organs should have died or shut down, years ago. Internal cybernetics, the power supplies, the wires, had been poisoning her. She should have NOT been alive this long, there was no way around this.

This knowledge drew a new anger from Pimm. She took the datapad in hand, and sat on the deck, her back against the strut she had been backed against earlier. 'He lied. Every part of it. He kept her like this, for years! No wonder she hurt so much.' New tears fell down her cheeks, though she stayed silent, looking at the peaceful body before her. She tried very hard to stay angry, but then other things kept popping into her head. Her smile at seeing him. Her voice, her guilt at saying she contacted SIS. His absolute declarations that he would make sure she got to the Jedi. Making him listen at who wasn't responsible for the change in plans.

Pimm paused, at that last thought. Was that real? A lie? Something the Mirialan said just to make him let her die finally? She activated the datapad, saw that it was quite full of information, but started at the newest pieces first, her comms, the comm from Darreck, and there. The thing he downloaded.

_Communique, top secret, General Malazar to Captain Ondan_   
_Captain,_   
_This is incredibly important. I have received word on the full nature of the cargo you are collecting for SIS._   
_It is a person of interest, but the interest is what makes it interesting._   
_Apparently, she's a holonet-precognitive. This means she, when plugged in, knows EVERYTHING going on, in flashes of course. But she knows data that is there, and knows data that WILL be there. She knows information before it's actually uploaded!_   
_MORE than that, she bypasses almost all encryption! This is how the Empire has been pre-empting us on certain things!_   
_Now, the plan is, by my informant, that SIS will debrief her for important information, before our medic core with some Jedi healers start to...fix her._   
_Take out all the work the Empire did on her, healing her body. Apparently, that poor bitch is in constant pain._

_But this is just a GROSSLY missed opportunity! Think about it Captain! We plug her in. And that information the Empire had benefited from, WE will have._

_So what that she hurts. She's just some scum from their side. I have Senators Khalo and Burganna behind me on this. You will escort the cargo to debrief. Then, once boarded on your ship, you will not go to Tython, but come to the attached location on Coruscant. It's a deep level, but you will offload her, and we will load a fake life support system with a corpse. Poor girl died in transit._

_Of course, this is top secret Captain. Everyone on that ship is expendable for this, Captain. Make sure that green skinned bitch is in my warehouse._

Pimm read it, twice, three times. Her eyes were wide, and looked over the data itself. The timestamp was two hours after leaving Coruscant. The encryption key was listed, digit for digit in the header. Either it was fabricated, or a VERY powerful hacker had infiltrated thirteen layers of encryption of Republic Military private secure communication protocols, without being caught. She shook her head, re-reading the missive again. She knew the Captain, and that General Malazar were both very racist, human-supremacists. But this? Her eyes lifted from the datapad, to the woman on the floor. If those senators, and this general were involved, and Ja'on had remained, the force that would meet him would destroy the entire ship if needed.

As the frigate finally dropped from hyperspace, she stood, the larger vessel breaking atmosphere and she felt the planet's gravity take over as the generator shut off. As the ship made for its landing dock, Pimm felt an unease starting to grow, first in her stomach, then her head. She moved to the forward cargo bay, joining Ackerack. The troops were...uneasy as well. All comms were off, and each and every man had their weapon unholstered. Ackerack spoke to her, his external comm clicking to life, "General Malazar is on the landing pad with a battalion. But, the Jedi Council and some high SIS officers are there as well. It sounds like I'm going to be charged with treason, but right now, all three are bickering over who has proper authority." As Pimm started to open her mouth, he shook his helmeted head, "No. I will follow protocol. Save what you have to say for the Court Martial." He looks at her, and she can feel his dry smile behind the helmet, "That's when it will matter."

The landing sequence finished, and all the troops made their way to the loading bay, Captain Ondan's voice on the PA, "All citizens remain in your quarters. There are some, complications that need to be dealt with. Once properly handled, you will be released." Pimm could feel the chaos outside now, the General screaming in the face of whoever was there for SIS. Master Serah was there, a calming rock, and Pimm's eyes widened as she realized Master Shan was also there! Finally, the chaos ended, though many of the troops turned to look to the side, as Captain Ondan entered the bay. Slowly, the loading ramp opened, and a battalion of soldiers stood, 800 strong, weapons drawn, and Pimm felt a grip of fear that they would simply open fire.

A Major walked up the ramp, his weapon moving to holster, "You are all under arrest, under Republic Military Doctrine for disobeying direct orders, leading to the deaths of two squads of fellow troops!" Pimm could feel the anger from the man, believing the words, and the momentary grip of fear as 68 still armed soldiers locked their attention on him. Ackerack keyed his comm, "Sir, Lieutenant Ackerack, C.O. of Havoc Squad," Pimm could feel the major's shock, obviously he knew the the Lieutenant, by reputation if nothing else. "These men only disobeyed the Captain's order to attack, on my command that they stand down. We," but he was cut off as a Colonel walked up the ramp next, and Pimm felt the white-hot surge of anger from the General in the background, "That is enough Lieutenant." The major, shocked at the intrusion, turned on the Colonel, but snapped to attention and cracked a salute, as did the entire troop in the ship. "Those details are classified. As is the mission." He turned to the major, stepping in dangerously close, "I suggest you heed me, Major, in spite of your other orders. I may not outrank the General, but my authority certainly does." Pimm could feel the major swallow, dryly, but nod. His voice lost much of that anger, obedience, training, and protocol kicking in, "Of course, Sir. The Lieutenant will be placed under arrest, though his men must be detained until the trial."

The superior officer nodded, "I agree. However, SIS will be taking him into custody, not you. Again. Mission." The major, still locked in a salute, was unable to look to the general, finally nodding, "I understand, Sir." The intelligence officer finally returned the major's salute, letting the lower ranking man lower his arm. He turned to the assembled troops, "Men, surrender your arms. All commlinks and storage devices will remain on your persons as SIS takes you into detainment, and Custody." Pimm felt the dangerous anger rising from the men around her, but Ackerack spoke, harshly, "Men, follow your orders!" Each of the men de-armed their weapons, three troops walking up the ramp from below with a crate. Each of the men from the ship moved forward, orderly, there was something to be said for military, surrendering their weapons and ammo, each being tagged and stored in the crate. They then left the ship, and the assembled battalion just watched as intelligence officers ushered the men away, until only Ackerack, Pimm, and Ondan from the ship remained, as well as the Major and Colonel.

Ackerack moved up, surrendering his weapon. Unlike his men, he was actually placed in binders, and escorted off by the SIS officer, before Ondan stepped up, "Don't forget this twi'lek." He was careful with his words, though Pimm could feel the slurs on the tip of his tongue. "She interfered with the mission, and let the enemy go." The General was walking up the ramp now, the Major hesitant, "She's a Jedi, Sir." Malazar's voice was like melted cheese over grease, thick, oily, "But she still is the reason we lost men. Take her now, Major." SIS was gone, she was alone, holding the datapad with proof of the betrayal, her saber broken, her right foot stepping back, those ugly, spiteful faces all too familiar.

A strong, quiet voice spoke up as the Major started to move, "She is not military. You have NO jurisdiction to take her." Pimm's eyes looked past the men as Ondan and Malazar looked back. It was not Master Serah boarding the ship, but Master Shan. Her own saber was already out, and her face was terrible. Ja'on's face pulled into hate, and anger, which showed his emotions, inspiring fear from the ferocity and passion. Master Shan, however, was calm. Her face neutral. But her eyes, they near glowed. Her brow was slightly furrowed, very stern, and she locked gazes with Malazar as he spoke, "She still was present, interf...." He trailed off as Satele Shan's chin dipped, the sound of her saber igniting painful. "She is Jedi. Any transgressions will be handled by the council. And I will NOT let you get in the way of that." Ondan and Malazar began to fidget under her glare, the major already stepping far to the side, knowing better than to try anything. Ondan finally said, "But her datapad stays with us!" The SIS officer had come back now, behind Master Shan, "Oh? I didn't realize you, or the General, were read in on the full nature of the mission, Captain. Meaning you have NO authority to demand any data." Pimm took this moment to move. She strode, back straight, head high, confident, clutching the pad to her chest, between the men. She was afraid, but not of them. Master Shan's scowl had reached her now, and she felt very much she would be in great trouble, but that was, as Satele had said, a Jedi matter.

Ten minutes later, she was in the Council Chambers near the Senate Tower, Master Serah and Master Shan with her. She was quiet, standing in front of the two. Pulses of fear washed over her, considering what may come. If the council, if these two, decided, she would be outed from the Order. The only REAL home she'd ever known. She knew what the mission was, she was "read in" as the SIS Colonel had called it. She knew that, while it was important that Mira's gifts be stopped being used by the empire, it was doubly so to fix the troubled and pained woman. Her lek'ku twitched, softly, the Ryl language allowing her to speak without saying anything, _'Please, please please'_ the need to say what had happened ready to explode from her, but fear of judgement keeping her tongue. Master Shan finally shook her head, starting to pace, "The audacity of those two! Ondan knew the basics of the mission, since he was piloting. But there should have been no deaths, at all! And WHY was Malazar here." Her back to the other two, she had moved to the central table, resting her hands on it.

Master Serah, whose eyes had never left Pimm, offered a warm smile. "Pimm," this drew Master Shan's attention, turning to face them both, far calmer in appearance and mind, "What happened? Two squads were cut down, and that poor girl," Serah's gaze dropped now, mourning the loss, "She never made it to Republic space." Her face came up, but quiet, to let her Padawan speak.

Pimm, now that she had her chance, didn't know where to start, the words threatening to trip over each other. She closed her eyes, took a deep, relaxing breath, and let it out, slowly, feeling the mild shock from her Master. When she opened her eyes, she started. "Mira, the subject, our mission, was not a slave. At least in the common sense, Master. J..." she paused, and corrected herself, "Lord Junath, the Sith who boarded the ship." Master Shan's face dipped now, a pained, frustrated tone in her voice, "The Sith. They just ca..." she trailed off however at Pimm's raised hand, before the Twi'lek continued, "She was his wife. He bonded with her, by Mirialan custom. He pursued us because, to him, we abducted his wife. He made two pleas with the captain to not interfere with him retrieving her. Both were ignored, which led to those men's deaths. He defeated me in single combat, soundly." The two masters looked at each other for a moment, then back, seeing Pimm whole and, minus a couple bruises, unharmed. "He went to her. She woke up. Master Shan," her throat constricted here, tears starting to fill her eyes, "He was going to follow her. Surrender. Just to be with her."

Master Serah's own face scrunched, "But that poor girl is dead, and he is gone. That doesn't add up to your story, Pimm." In spite of the words, however, her tone was not accusatory, instead a plea for clarification. The Twi'lek nodded, "Sh....she." She licked her lips, feeling them suddenly dry, before "She intercepted or found a communication. From the General to the Captain. She wasn't going to make it to us, Master Shan. They were going to plug her back into the Holonet. She.....she couldn't finish the trip, and couldn't go back." Her eyes looked up, unable to face the two as she finished, in a hoarse whisper, "She begged him to let her go. So he did."

For three long, quiet, pain filled minutes, no one said a thing. Master Serah moved to her now, resting both hands on her padawan's shoulders, "My padawan, Pimm..." The Twi'lek nodded, "There is no death, there is only the force." She looked at her Master, whose eyes widened in shock, just a bit. "I know that, Master. But......his grief. It.....it was overpowering." Serah wiped her face softly, just as Pimm had done for Ja'on earlier, but smiled and nodded. "I can believe it." Master Shan now approached, eyes on the datapad, "I wouldn't doubt it, padawan, but without proof?" She trailed off, the idea well-founded in her mind as to what the Twi’lek held. Pimm brought up the communication, handing the pad to Satele, who read it. "We'll need SIS to verify the encryption key. But if it passes, this.....this is treason." She had no pleasure in her voice, no anger or righteous indignation. Instead, it was shock. Twenty minutes later the Colonel was in the office with a secure uplink, reading the 206 character key on the pad, and when he finished, sure enough, word for word, was the message, complete with timestamp, the attachment with location of the warehouse, and a backlog with the SIS agent who gave him the information to begin with, as well as the General contacting the two senators. The Intelligence Officer and Satele had the same shocked, near disgusted look on their faces. "Treason, violation of security protocols," the officer shook his head, looking to the Jedi. "I have grounds, now, to make accusations, but that can get ugly. I do have an idea, however. Will you three, please attend the Lieutenant's Court Martial? It starts tomorrow." Satele and Serah nodded, before all three looked at Pimm. Serah spoke, "You do not have to, we cannot, nor will we, make you. But," at this Pimm just nodded. "Yes. Of course."

Pimm needed to stay on Coruscant, obviously for the trial. Master Serah had her join her in her quarters, the two sharing a quiet meal, home cooked. Pimm was quiet, and Serah let her be, knowing that Pimm's history, her emotions, and seeing such a close relationship end would have effects on her. Finally, when the older woman was ready to sleep, she spoke beyond asking what Pimm wanted to eat, or drink. "My padawan, I can feel the turmoil." She met the Twi'lek's gaze, a warm smile on her face. "I know his anger, his grief, his passion reached you," though she stopped, head tilting. "But there's more, isn't there?" Pimm could only nod, unsure what to say, before, "He'd be a better Jedi than me, Master!" The shame for her own emotions raging back on the ship, her anger at him for being so calm in spite of everything, minus his outbursts of course, coursing through her. She turned away, holding herself. "He tried to be peaceful. Numerous times. Tried to just TALK to me. And in...in spite....of that rage." She thought to that sensation, his anger, the power freezing her entire body, and heard the gasp from Serah as she felt the memory. Pimm continued, a whisper, "In spite of that, he still didn't want to hurt anybody."

Serah took a moment to collect herself, before walking up to Pimm, resting both hands on her shoulders from behind. "He showed control, and it seems like he has a sense of true honor. It seems like, he is no monster. But, he IS Sith, my padawan. His passions, anger, grief, these emotions all lead to the dark side." Pimm nodded, still whispering, "It doesn't control him." Four words, four words that shook the foundation of every thought of the Sith. Pimm could feel Serah's hesitation, the stab of uncertainty, before the glow of a smile, "Then there is hope for him, and others. That they can be turned from the Emperor." Pimm lifted her head now, half turning to look back, her own lips pulling into a smile as well, the unspoken words about her own turn from hate, her desire to be better filling her. Serah nodded as she saw Pimm understand, "Rest, tomorrow will likely be long. And boring. With so many words, and people, and more words," she made her tone flatter and flatter, sounding more and more bored before she let her head droop, making an incredibly loud and exaggerated snoring noise, before snapping her head up, "What? Did I miss anything?" Pimm couldn't help but give a soft giggle at the antics, as Serah headed to the first bedroom.

Pimm finished cleaning the dishes, then went to the second room. The datapad, still safely in her possession, was on the dresser. She looked at it, almost longingly, curious as to what other data was on it. Surely Ja'on knew he would never see it again, as he gave it to a Jedi who was heading to the heart of Republic Space. What information, what things was he willing to part with. But these thoughts drew others. The lights were dim, as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her body was toned, firm muscles, from years of dancing, and Jedi training now. But these did not reduce her curves, her "appeal" to others. She thought about that softness in his voice, the tenderness in his actions. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have him hold her hand, to stroke her lek'ku. To beg her to stay with him. She shook her head, as her heat rose, heartbeat in her throat. The last unbidden image in her head, that moment within their minds Mira and Ja'on had shared. She wrapped her legs around his waist. The Mirialan wasn't MUCH taller than her, just a couple inches. How would that work. Was he small? Was he that proportionate? She turned away from the mirror, feeling the flush in her face, shaking her head vigorously. "There is no Emotion, there is Peace. There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge. There is no Passion, there is Harmony. There is no Chaos, there is Harmony. There is no Death, there is the Force."

She had to repeat those words four, five, ten times. Finally, the curious thoughts, the desire to know, the thrill of when she had been on her knees before that terrible power, all faded. She felt tired, nearly exhausted now. Her head hurt, and in spite of the peace, she felt a rawness inside. Something she couldn't place. She took a deep breath, the lights dimming to near blackness, just a little illumination in the room. She pulled off the robes, body exposed to the coolness of the air, the release of heat from the cloth helping her head, but not the raw feeling. "It must be nerves," she thought to herself, before moving to the bed, laying on the cool sheets, head on the pillows, before sleep took her.

She stood in her office. Between her hands, the implant rested on the desk. She felt the writhing twisting presence of the Dark Councilman, Darth Bathar. She straightened, re-pocketing the implant, turning as the door opened, the councilman entering unbidden, two guards behind staying out. "Darth Bathar," she stated, nodding to him. The old human, skin too-pale, stretched thin, black circles under his eyes, smiled, sickening sweet, dangerous, a predator. "Please, we are friends! No need to stand on ceremony!" As the old-looking man, whose power felt like decay itself twisting her insides, walked around, he didn't look at her. "A shame. The Republic took," before Pimm shook her head. "I am investigating. Cipher has already verified, my men did NOT release that information." Bathar stopped, and looked back, "I see. Then SIS must have found out by other means. But, I would have assumed you would have returned with our precious." Pimm felt a surge of hate, grief, loss, glad for the mask, knowing it held her expression back. "They tampered with the Life Support. As I tried to collect, it shut down. That was the only thing," and Bathar finished for her, "Keeping them alive now. Yes, yes, I know. And that technology has been a boon. But," that twist turned into a stab as he looked at her, "But I know you are sentimental. How can I KNOW you didn't just leave them? We have no body, after all." She then pulled out the implant, and tossed it to Darth Bathar, "Oh-ho! The spinal plant! Well, yes, she is most certainly dead now. But," he pulled out a device, slotting the implant, "But we both know pulling it out would kill her. I wonder...." he trailed off, looking down at the data, and that stabbing in her guts released, "They did die first. Auto-ejection upon loss of living signals." Bathar looked up, Pimm holding back the desire to scream in fear, the urge to vomit, the want to hit the Dread Lord over and over, for without a smile, he looked and felt like true death.

Pimm shook, but was outwardly very calm, somehow. The man regarded her for a long, long minute. "Very good, Lord Junath. You know I abhor attachment. Even with your inspiring speech years ago, I still abhor it. You could have healed her, gotten her back, but that would have been a waste of energy and resources at this point." He approached Pimm, whose chin lifted higher, until an arm's length was between them. Bathar smiled, this time no mirth, no sweetness. This was every tooth visible, veins tight, eyes bloodshot and irises stained red, a predator through and through, "And you are STRONGER for it! USE this grief. USE this anger. And unleash it!" That smile became, if possible, worse as a perverse pleasure filled it now. "I leave the handling of your house in your, capable hands. And I can almost...taste...your need. That medic of yours." He just chuckled, and left. Pimm just stood there, quiet. Long, quiet moments. That sensation of twisting left her, the presence left. Soon, only five or six minutes, she knew she was alone. Her head dipped, chin down, falling to her knees, hands on thighs, before a scream, of pure pain, erupted from her chest, the release of all that energy trashing the room. The durasteel desk was ripped from the floor where it had been welded in place, cracking clean in half as it hit the wall. All the other furniture, the light fixture, thrashed and trashed. Lightning exploded from every inch of her body, arcing to and blowing out the displays set in the wall, the computer systems frying, the door, so well hidden, that led to the chamber the missing tank and life-support system, blown off its servos.

Pimm was screaming, Master Serah over her, hands on her shoulders, shaking her, calling her, as the twi'lek just cried "I'm sorry Mira!" over and over. Finally, Serah managed to wake Pimm, who lay there trembling, eyes wide and frantic. The two looked at each other for a long minute, Serah stroking Pimm's face, "Shhhhh," she said calmingly. She didn't ask, knowing Pimm would share. Finally, her padawan spoke, "I...I was him. Ja'on. He was met by a member of the Dark Council, and turned over the implant that fell out." She was speaking fast, rambling, almost incoherent, but Serah just nodded and listened. "They scorned him for loving, saying Mira dying was good. That he needs to use that anger and grief. He....." she took a deep breath, eyes twitching madly as she felt the dream, the memory, the she wasn't quite sure. "He's ready to fall. To just lose himself." This nearly drew a chest-wracking sob from her now, as Serah sat on the bed, "If he does, my padawan, none can blame him. He has suffered," Pimm nodded, "He is around those who believe peace is weakness," Pimm closed her eyes, as this train of thought led to one idea, his eventual end in violence, but her eyes snapped open after Serah finished, "And if he does, and we meet him, we will still offer our help. If he is willing." She smiled softly at her padawan. "I have no surprise you touched his mind. The power he had, the effect it had on you. Now Pimm" she leaned in closer, as the twi'lek curled up next to and kind-of around Serah, "If it happens again, please tell me. I do not want this to become too often. These bonds can have terrible or great effects on people. But they always come with problems. And, I do not want you to become a spy for us." Pimm nodded, that rawness gone, exhaustion filling her now. "I will, Master," she murmured, "I hope he doesn't lose himself," she whispered softly, before falling asleep. Serah watched her padawan, the smile gone, "And I hope we don't lose you, my padawan." She stood, returning to her own bed, and neither were disturbed until the morning.

The next day, Pimm felt drained, but calm. She wasn't sure, exactly, why. Something had bothered her during the night, but she couldn't remember what. The military tribunal room was full, senators, admirals, generals, plus the tribunal itself. Ackerack was sitting at the defense table with the SIS Colonel as his counselor, Malazar and Ondan far to the other side. Pimm, Satele, and Serah sat on a bench between the tribunal and Ackerack, giving them nearly the entire room in their view. All stood as the tribunal called to order, "Case of Treason against First Lieutenant Ackerack, Commanding Officer of Havoc Squad, in regards to charges of first, refusal to comply with direct orders, second showing cowardice in the face of the enemy, and thirdly by his inaction allowed the death of twenty-four of his fellows, and forth, allowing the mission of..." at this the SIS defender stood, "Objection to the fourth charge, Sirs, on grounds that the mission itself is still classified as Top Secret, open mission, and under SIS jurisdiction." There was a murmur through the crowd as the Lieutenant General on the Tribunal started at the Colonel, before pursing his lips, and looking back down, "And fourth, a mission of redacted redacted redacted resulting in the de..." And again the Colonel, "Objection, Sir. The results of the mission are, as the mission itself, classified." The high ranking general shot the man a withering glare as a soft titter washed through the crowd. "And fourth, a mission of redacted redacted redacted resulting in redacted redacted redacted." He looks back to the Colonel, "May I read this next part?" The Colonel flipped through his packet, easily four inches thick, then back up. "No, Sir." The general took a deep, frustrated breath, and finished with, "All of which resulted in redacted redacted redacted. Opening statements?"

The prosecutor stood first, "We are going to show that Lieutenant Ackerack did knowingly after completing a mission on," before the next "Objection." Everyone now looked at the SIS agent, who stood there calmly, and Pimm could feel the collected irritation from the tribunal, the "what the?" from the prosecutor, and the growing anger from Malazar and Ondan. The tribunal lead nodded, then shook his head, resting his forehead on his hand. The prosecutor cleared his throat, "Um. Yes. We will show, he," he looked at the SIS agent again, "He violated orders. Sometime after something. Resulting in...things happening." He sat down, frustrated as the SIS agent took his turn. "We'll show that he didn't." He then sat down, as the soft chaos in the room rose, just a bit. The Lieutenant General leading the tribunal started, "Very well. Prosecutor, proceed." The young officer nodded, as Ackerack rose, moving to the witness chair, facing the three judges, and the lawyer moved up. "Sir, could you please state why you were on the ship," before he could finish, the SIS colonel cleared his throat.

The captain interrogating Ackerack looked right at the SIS officer, and Pimm could only suppress her smile, and felt Satele's and Serah's mirth at the situation. "Can I ask him where the ship was?" The agent shook his head. "How many men under him?" Another shake of his head. "What his name is?!" The lawyer was getting very frustrated at the ridiculousness of the situation, but Pimm could feel even with that, he was trying to not laugh. At this last question, the Colonel rose his finger, and flipped through the packet on the desk, stopping half way through, and looked up smiling as he inhaled, before the smile dropped, saying "No."

At this, the Lieutenant General lost his patience, "Well then, what CAN we ask? We are talking about treason, cowardice, and the death of two squads of our men!" The SIS Colonel cleared his throat, softly, "Sir, the mission is classified Top Secret. More than that, NOFORN and locked behind need-to-know to prevent a possible leak." The General watched the man for a long minute. "Who CAN talk about it then?" The agent looked through the packet, though Pimm knew he already knew that answer. He looked up, "Without a justified read-in, the Lieutenant, Jedi Masters Shan and Ferrowlah, and Master Ferrowlah's padawan Jedi Pimm can only discuss it amongst themselves in a top secret secure room, preferably with SIS present. Republic Naval Captain Thaddeous Ondan had partial read-in, since he was in charge of the ship, and needed to know where it went, but nothing more of the mission, including the cargo, members on board, or anything else. Other than them, Sir? No one."

The general nodded, looking around the very full room, "Everyone except the Jedi, Ondan, and our councils, leave." It took a while, but finally the tribunal room was empty save for the three judges, two lawyers, three Jedi, Ackerack, and the Captain. "For this to continue, we DO need a read-in, Council." Ondan was beginning to fidget, Pimm noticed, watching him. She realized the Council's plan now. He made it clear that not a single thing of the mission was available to the public. And that the Captain was not supposed to know about Mira, just the location. So how could he, with the recordings, already know about her when Ja'on showed up?!

The Colonel then passed the prosecutor and judges a Non-Disclosure Agreement, meaning if they shared the information outside official capacity, they would be arrested. Ondan's was updated for the second read-in. He then started, "Six months ago, Galactic Standard Time, SIS started receiving messages from an unknown. At first, our handlers felt it was a hacker, someone trying to prove themselves. Over the following three months, we made full contact. We learned they were an Imperial Citizen. Their story was, outlandish. They stated that years ago, a form of something woke in them. They had precognitive abilities, meaning of course divination. Seeing the future." The judges were rapt with attention, taking short notes. "However, the individual did not see events. They saw data. They saw data behind firewalls, encryption keys, and more. But, I said precognitive. They were able to see data BEFORE it was uploaded to the holonet. It took another month of testing them, but they did manage to prove themselves, thoroughly."

He paused to take a drink of water, then continued. "Finally, they told us their condition. Forced cybernetics. Plugged into the net all the time. They told us they did not want to leave the Empire, familial reasons, but they could not continue to live like they were. We then read in Master Shan, considering how incredible this seemed." At this, Master Shan stood, "Myself, with two other Masters, started to probe. We found the person of interest, and found the most interesting thing. They were ALMOST Force Sensitive." Everyone in the room looked a little confused, and she continued, "You see, she wasn't. She could not see with the Force, feel it, use it, or anything. But...something, and I could not tell you what, awoke just enough in her that she could see. But not through the normal means, but the Holonet." The judges murmured to each other at this, "Yes, she could see data as it moved, see data before it showed. And she proved this," she looked back at the Colonel.

"We had her break every encryption and firewall we could devise. We had her tell us what we were posting before it posted. She did. Easily. That took two weeks. We have spent the past six weeks figuring out when to touch land. We read in Havoc Squad, and Master Shan suggested Jedi Pimm accompany, her skills as a Jedi, and scouting abilities, would be a boon." Pimm looked down, flushing. She hadn't known Master Shan had requested her. "And that's when they left forty hours ago." The judges looked to each other, and finally the Lieutenant General spoke, "So now I understand the mission. This person of interest, where is she?" Pimm's throat clenched, though Ackerack himself spoke, "Dead, Sir. After ingress and egress, we were on our way back to Republic space, but the frigate required four jumps to make the path. We were intercepted at the first hyperspace drop by the Sith. Though I feel Jedi Pimm would better explain the events on the ship." She felt all eyes on her now, swallowing hard. Serah rested a hand on her forearm, a reassuring squeeze, though the loathing from Ondan was palpable. She stood, datapad held close, and moved to the floor, turning to face the judges.

"Sirs, the Sith, Lord Junath," that name drew a couple shocked looks, they knew him, "intercepted us. He opened comm to the bridge, and requested that the Captain return what we had taken. After all, we were in Imperial Space, close to Dromund Kaas." Ondan stood, "LIES!" The Lieutenant General stood, old but powerful looking, turning to the Naval Captain, his voice quiet, but Pimm could feel the edge like a physical blade, "You will sit and be SILENT Captain, until this Tribunal calls on you. IF we do." Ondan blanched visibly, but took his seat, before the General turned back to Pimm, sitting and nodding to her to continue. "As I said, Lord Junath asked that we just return the person. The Captain cut him off, after which the Sith disabled the ship. Two torpedoes were all it took. These were designed to temporarily incapacitate, not damage, the ship. Ion cannons in torpedo form. He then reopened comms, asking again to let him collect her. If we did not fight, he would not. Just wanted her." She swallowed dryly, eyes drifting down now. "The captain refused, deploying the men. From Lord Junath, he tried to have the men stand down, to incapacitate. But his hand was forced, and he...he killed them."

The Major General on the Lieutenant General's right, a formidable human female in her forties, cleared her throat, "Now, Jedi Pimm, we are talking about a Sith Lord. How can you believe that he tried that?" Pimm looked at the woman, "Because Ma'am, he beat me in less than three minutes in single combat. It was only three hundred yards from his ship to the cargo bay. That would be five minutes taking a very slow walk. With his prowess, our men in those corridors wouldn't be more than a few seconds delay. It took him twenty minutes to reach the holds." The female general nodded, "Thank you," she said quietly. Pimm took a breath, "He did reach me. He tried to just talk me down. I did not, and actually attacked him. He could have killed or maimed me, but decided that simply snapping my lightsaber in two with his bare hands would be enough." Satele's eyes went wide, and Pimm could feel that disbelief. She pulled the pieces out, the jagged metal edges, the strained and stretched metal showing the bend before it had broken. "It was. He was, honorable enough, to not kill me. He actually invited me to follow him to Mira, to her, the person of interest." Her eyes threatened to tear up again, "He. He was there to rescue her in his mind. She begged him to let her die, so he did. He made it painless for her." She couldn't add more, but this was enough, she felt Ondan paling further, the approval from the Jedi, the thanks from Ackerack.

Finally, the Lieutenant General spoke, "This is interesting, but doesn't explain why she would ask that, nor does your explanation have any proof. Unless that?" motioning to the datapad. Pimm nodded, and the SIS agent brought her a link, which was attached. She was ready to start just with the comms, but something stayed her hand, instead opening the very first file. Not just curiosity, but a need to start there.

The link hooked the pad to the holoprojectors in the room, the first image was Ja'on, younger, much younger, the lines missing from his face, the nose not broken, but age did not weaken his power. He was kneeling in front of a Sith Lord, who was presenting him his lightsaber. Pimm flipped, the next image. These were all old, dated...nearly 15 years prior. He was at some imperial slave pens, a mirialan trembling in a cage. A handwritten note, mocking, 'My apprentice's first slave' in the corner. The next, was a video recording, the Mirialan clothed, but cowering, Ja'on near her, voice soft. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not asking you to believe me, or trust me. But it is the truth." The green-skinned woman looked to him now, as he held up a plate. "Please, I don't want you to suffer, to starve. If you want, I'll show you it's not drugged," though he didn't move. For two breaths, nothing happened, before she nodded. He took a small bite of everything on the plate, swallowing, before sliding it to her. She grabbed it and proceeded to devour the food.

"This is interesting, but I hardly," started the prosecutor, before Serah interrupted, "This shows more than just evidence, sir. It will show character, personality. It will show us WHO Lord Junath is. And it will lead to the events on the ship." Pimm continued, a few pictures of him caring for the slave, taking almost a year. A private vid came up, a recording, "Mira, it's me. Obviously. Listen. I......" he sighed, smiling foolishly, "I can't really say this. I don't know how. I...I want you. In my life. But not as a slave. Not as a subordinate. I have already processed the fees and contract. At 1900 local, you are free. A civilian. I also procured a safe travel visa. And there is a ticket back to Mirial for one, one way. If...if you want. Go home. Be safe, be free, be happy. I won't be home until tomorrow, 0900. If you are gone, Mira, I understand. I really do. But, if....if you are still here.....I." He eyes met the camera dead on, "I would be...very happy, and thankful." The recording ended, and the next picture was time stamped the next day at 9, showing the Mirialan wrapped around the giant of a man, the two kissing, the camera low, like on a table. More pictures, the two holding hands, cuddling, all taken up close. A few from a distance. Another two years passed in time stamps, and the two stood on a green planet, framed beautifully, smiling at each other, the Mirialan's tattoos extending down her arm, over her left hand, and then continued onto his right hand and up to his elbow.

The third general finally spoke, "Wait...he bonded with her?" Pimm could only nod, a slow dread filling her, but forced herself to continue. The next image was her, grinning sillily, but posed out on a bed, wearing very little, welcome and inviting. More pictures. Their home. Pictures of him vulnerable, resting, at peace, others of her. She grew older, slowly, though he remained mostly youthful. But, it was a slow progression, just a little extra wear, a new crease. But then, Pimm was shaking. She couldn't. She knew, she understood. But she couldn't do it. The next picture. She took a steady breath, and brought it up. The two, close, adoration in his eyes, and hers, his hand on her stomach. The confusion, and realization, apparent in everyone. Then the next, the mirialan's belly was bigger. Then bigger. Bigger. One picture she had terrible bed head, looked miserable, but had an endearing, sincere, smile, blush on her cheeks. Finally, her belly was smaller, a baby on her chest. The next, him holding his son, both asleep. The next the three on a starship. Pimm couldn't breathe, trembling, as she forced herself to continue.

The child grew, pictures of father and son playing, mother and son eating, and it continued. The Major General, "He seems truly happy," to the general nods in the room. There was a video, almost five years ago, during the open war. Son and father out in the yard, playing a game with toy blasters. The child, about seven or eight, "I'm going to kill all those pubbies!" At this, a small sob from the one holding the camera, though Ja'on stopped dead and looked at him. "Now, Dust. You shouldn't say that." The child looked up, no fear in his eyes, "But, why not daddy? They're the bad guys!" Ja'on shook his head, "No. Think of this, sweet boy. The Jedi attacked and drove out the Sith. They are part of the republic. But they fail to see their own shortcomings. We aren't trying to destroy them." Everyone felt the discomfort at seeing him explain the war so simply, and the fact that his calmness suggested he believed it. "We're going to make them strong. There will be deaths, of course." His son nodded, "But we don't want to just kill them all."

Dust looked confused, "What do you mean daddy?" Ja'on smiled, "Well, is Mommy in the army?" Dust shook his head, "No. She's mommy!" "Iiiiiiissss Jill in the army?" A laugh, "No Daddy! She's five!" He nodded again, "Are YOU in the army?" A squealing laugh, "No!" He nodded. His voice still soft, even teaching. "So if the Republic soldiers decided to come here, would you want them to hurt or kill you? Mommy? Jill?" Dust thought for a long moment, then shook his head, and Pimm could feel her face paling, her mind begging, "no no no no no" as the video continued, though everyone else was touched by the father's advice. "Exactly. We don't want to do that to them, do we? Attack mommies and sons and daughters who aren't fighting?" Dust looked VERY serious, "No, Daddy, we don't! That would make a lot of people sad!" Ja'on nodded. "Good boy. Now...who do we know that like to hurt EVERYONE regardless? Who should we fight?" "PIRATES!" and the two resumed their laser fight with imaginary bad guys. Ja'on let out a "OOF! They GOT me!" before falling over WAY too dramatically, "Dust! Dust! I'm...I'm sorry! I tried, Captain, but there were too many! I'm...done for! Bleeeeeehhhhh!" Dust came over, laughing, "But Daddy, you can heal yourself!" Ja'on snapped up, "Oh yeah! I forgot!" and pretended to use the force to heal himself. The video ended with Mira, lowering the camera, catching her face, tears on her cheeks, but a loving smile on her lips. _"I can't. I can't. I can't."_ the voice in Pimm's head begging her to not. But, she slowly, shaking, pressed the button, bringing up the next image.

This was a holonet news article, showing one of the most violent attacks from the Republic against Imperial space, the sacking of a major city on Balmorra. It had taken place four days after the video. This was major, even in republic space, considering the casualties. The garrison had been thin, most of the troops on an active mission. And, at most, there were only two hundred any given time. The death toll measured in the thousands. Pimm felt faint, ready to drop, the voice now silent, as the tension grew in the room, and her finger pressed the button.

The next image, was familiar. After the attack on Balmorra, the Empire had placed out an ad, almost propaganda, recruiting for the armed forces. It showed a Sith, tall, stoic, being held by a human woman, gripping his robes, sobbing into them. "As powerful as we are, as the Sith are, even they cannot be everywhere at once. Prevent another Balmorra. Prevent another atrocity! Join today!" However, any who saw the ad back then could tell it was doctored imagery. This, was the original. Lord Junath stood, face showing pain and anguish, tears on his cheeks. Mira, not some human, gripped him, her face showing her wailing. And before them, a coffin. Too short. Just...too short. "By the Force," "Mercy have us," "Dear...god..." were the murmurs in the room. Pimm didn't even hear them, honestly, before pressing the button.

This was a video, grainy, obviously a security camera, probably installed without them knowing. Mira was pummeling his chest, screaming, as he stood there. "WHERE WERE YOU?! WHY WERE YOU GONE?!" The question was rhetorical. She knew. Finally, she wore herself out, and he supported her to the ground, holding her, his voice thick, pained, breaking. "I...I wish. I would have. Mira, if I could, I would be in the ground instead of him." She looked up at him, rage on her face, pulled into an ugly grimace, "This is your fault!" she screamed, voice going hoarse. He looked at her, that accusation breaking him further. All could see the shift, the anger. But his voice, still gentle, "I know. I know it is." Some of the anger started to seep in now, and Mira's face lost its edge, turning afraid. "They killed him. Gunned down a child. MY child. I will rain death on them, Mira. I will destroy their cities. I will murder their wives, and children, making them watch. I will trap them in that pain, for eternity!" His voice shook with every syllable, and yet, Pimm knew, that rage, that pain, as consuming as it was, was still nothing. Weak. Because he had her at that point in time.

Mira reached up, pulling his face down, seeing his rage calming her own. "No. No!" His body shook in her grip, her voice soothing, "No. Dust...he wouldn't want that." Some of the anger faded. "He ran up to them. He was screaming at them. 'We're not soldiers! We're mommies and daughters and sons! It's not right!' He was brave, braver than most. He was....he was trying to make them see honor." The sob the huge man let out, knowing his son's last actions before death claimed him, were trying to live by his words, was powerful. "Don't lose yourself, love. I just....I can't. I don't know what to do." Ja'on nodded, and held her close. Pimm hit the button for the next.

An audio log, from Ja'on. "It's been....two weeks now. I'm so worried for Mira. She's obsessed with the holonet. Looking for information. Trying to find out something, I don’t know what. She keeps saying, 'So close.' Just that, over and over. She's barely eating, and I don't think she sleeps." The next, "Another week. She's eating now, but.....lost in there. 'It's got to be here. Right here!' She's been scanning the same area, the same data packets over and over. Like somehow a message will pop up." Another log, two days later, "She....she found it. Right where she said it would be. Just took three weeks for the information to be public." He looks away from the camera, a light breathing heard. "She knew it would be there. This......this could be dangerous." The log ended. A press, the next another video.

This took place in a large room, multiple high chairs, with various men and women sitting on them, looking down. On the floor, Ja'on and his Master. "My Lords. I have...information. I know specifically the commander and troops who sacked Balmorra." The Dark Council looked at each other, before Bathar spoke, "And HOW do you have this information." Ja'on hesitated, "My Lords, I ask time to verify. I need to ensure the information is correct. If it is, I will test, see if the method is repeatable. I am, and have been, loyal to the Empire, and to proper order in the galaxy. I do not wish to promise a powerful tool that will never come to fruition. I beg the boon of time, nothing more. Allow me to execute this mission, then verify my methods are solid, with repeatable results. If this does fall in place, I will present my findings post haste. If it was a one-time, I do not wish to offer something I cannot deliver." The Dark Council all looked at each other, nodding. "Lord Mathick, leave us." Ja'on's Master bowed, stepping out. Bathar tilted his head. "You have attachment, boy. And it holds you back."

Ja'on looked at the councilman, nodding, "With respect to your knowledge, I do disagree, My Lord. Not in general, but in particular." A Female Lord, with sharp features, "Oh? You do? But here you are, apprentice for Mathick for ten years. By now all your fellows have at least attained Lord." Ja'on nodded again in deference. "Yes. Or died. Or have over extended and drawn the Council's ire. Or been betrayed by those they took under their guidance. I, on the other hand, serve my Master, The Dark Council, and the Emperor dutifully. I have had no projects to strike out on my own, since my loyalty is to the Empire over myself. But, again for myself, my attachment is a source of strength. On more than one mission, I have been outmatched. Outnumbered. Just straight up overpowered. And yet, I stand here, whole. No limbs lost. No facilities addled. And that is BECAUSE of my wife." The woman gave an acidic grin, "And son?" Ja'on froze, body spasming, but looks at her. "He had been. And now, his loss is a source of anger and grief that will never be quenched." The viper-esque smile vanished from the woman's face, an appreciative nod. "I understand. It's not our thoughts of attachment you disagree with," He nods, finishing, "Just that for myself, personally, it is a reserve that would otherwise by untappable." This seemed to please the Dark Council, and the video ended.

The next, a personal log, Ja'on looking disheveled, haggard. "They struck while I was dealing with that coward. She's gone. I will find them and make them suffer." The next few pictures were information, pirates, slavers. A trail. Some seemed to be sent to him, others found. Finally, he was in front of the Council again, this time the video finding it difficult to focus on him. "HOW DARE YOU ALLOW THIS!" he screamed at them. Not a single member of the Council was smiling. In fact, most were pressed back against their chairs, looking like springs ready to be uncoiled. "I asked, BEGGED, for time to verify! And you let that schutta TAKE HER!" Mathick was at his feet, no longer moving. "In my hunt, I destroyed four pirate ships, two slaver enclaves, and finally, 800 of our OWN MEN AND WOMEN through 4 bases, WASTING our resources, as well as a fellow apprentice AND MY OWN MASTER!" He looked to each in turn, "When I wanted time! TIME! She had been right, of course. Something awoke in her. She could see the Holonet like no one else, and had precognitive images of certain data. But now, because HE," he kicks the corpse, the head and chest hitting the wall ten feet away from him, fifteen feet to his left, whereas the legs hit fifteen feet to his right, the splitting sound as the body parted a sickening squelch, "didn't know how to do things right, SHE is ALWAYS in pain, and will DIE from his procedures!" Bathar grinned sickly, "And here we see your attachment," but Ja'on cut him off. "Attachment nothing, you decrepit fool! If you can't manage to break the Jedi and Republic in the next year or two, you LOSE her as an asset!" This drew a titter of laughter from the other members, though Bathar didn't look angry, but instead nodding. "You...are right," and then he fell silent.

One of the lords, almost as tall as Ja'on, came down to the floor, "I tire of his whining. I will kill him and continue the reasearAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Ja'on had charged, almost a blur, at the Dark Lord, his fist smashing into the other man's chest, who was thrown back a good fifteen feet. Ja'on was charging again, as the Lord threw a blast of lightning at the taller man, who just shrugged it off, literally, grabbing the other's throat. A fist smashed into Ja'on's face, breaking his nose, but he shifted after, lifting and then bringing the Dark Lord down on his knee, the crack of multiple vertebrae shattering sickeningly loud. He dumped the other man's body, then grabbed his head and twisted, leaving a corpse, before yanking and literally separating the body from noggin. He dropped it, and turned to the rest, as though daring them to come down.

The female, leaned forward, "Lord Junath, Lord of Grief, I appoint you as your wife's new keeper. You may choose any planet, and we will ensure a compound fitting your desires is made. You also may draw from the imperial forces a guard force, as well as others, as you see fit." Ja'on, now a Lord, stood there. His rage was still palpable, his face a mask of hate, but he bowed, his voice shaking but deferent again, "Thank you, My Lord." He straightened, and turned, exiting the chamber.

Pimm could feel Serah and Satele watching her now. The unease in the room, even from Ackerack, was powerful. The only positive, if one could call it that, was Ondan's own discomfort. He was beginning to understand the gravity of the situation, since he was one of the four responsible for the Mirialan wishing death over any other option. Pimm brought up the next image, another video. Lord Junath stood in an office, back against a desk, "why is that so familiar" Pimm thought to herself. Before him were six imperials. Five were men, the last a woman. Lord Junath's voice was low, gravelly, Pimm knew that sound. The sound of a person who had been crying themselves to sleep. "You six are here for a new assignment. And, you six I know. We have worked together in the past. I chose you because I know your loyalty will not be questioned."

He paced, slowly. "I do not know what you have heard of this compound," when one of the men, burly, in Imperial Soldier armor, "Sir, M'Lord, but, who are you." Lord Junath stopped, looking at him, then reached up, removing the mask Pimm knew for him, resting it on the desk. All six of the imperials brightened, though the female's face immediately drew into one of sympathetic pain. "Ja'on!" the one who had spoken exclaimed. The Sith looked at him, a tired, worn smile on his face. "Lord Junath, now my friend." There was a murmur of appreciation, congratulations from the six, before the female stepped up, "M'Lord?" He looked at her, eyebrow arched, nodding for her to speak, "Yes Genna?"

"M'Lord, you look, well." She swallowed, "Terrible." Even in the vid, everyone could feel the tension as all the men looked at the back of the female's head, but Ja'on laughed. It was dry, mirthless, but he laughed. "No doubt. My promotion came with an assignment. Captain," he said looking at the lead troop, "You four are the compound's guard. We're close enough to Kaas City that there should not be TOO many beasts. Basic security. The east wing is the barracks. I expect efficiency, accuracy. But other than that, I have few obligations for you. The barracks are large enough. You can have guests. If families happen, there's room for them as well." The lead soldier nodded, and Ja'on waved, dismissing them. The four troops left to familiarize themselves with the compound.

Ja'on turned to the two left. "Mark, congratulations on attaining Cipher." The last man nodded, voice smooth, smile on his lips, "Thank you M'Lord." Ja'on smiled gently. "I know you are under orders from Keeper to report all data gathered. You are also under orders to report if I inhibit the asset." The man's eyes widened, a hair, but did not deny this. "All I ask, my friend, is you are honorable, and honest. Report if I do. But do not report I am, if I am not." The smile left Ja'on's face, and voice, "I would hate to feel that betrayal." Mark, Cipher of Imperial Intelligence, swallowed dryly, but nodded. "I understand M'Lord. And, Ja'on," the man relaxing, "How...how are you? I'm sorry I hadn't made contact with you since.....Balmorra. How are you? Mira?" Ja'on tensed, but anger did not fill him, instead a tight smile on his face. "I'm...doing. Mira." He looked behind him at a flat wall, Pimm shaking her head. Why was it familiar? "Mark, Genna. Come meet the asset." Ja'on turned, hand over his desk, and the wall behind him opened, showing a medical bay, with terminal uplinks. Pimm's eyes went wide, recognizing it, the dream coming back in a crash. Inside, hooked to a terminal and medical monitors, was Mira, crying softly in pain.

"Mark, she is the source of information. Genna. Your primary job is to keep her healthy. The implants are killing her, and she hurts." He turns to the medic, who had gasped at the sight. "The Council is willing to front credits for her, so long as she continues to provide information. You will attend the others if they are hurt here, but SHE is your duty." The video cut.

The next few were images, often just Ja'on asleep on a chair in the medical bay. Mira was changing as the pictures progressed. Some implants being adjusted. New lines. Medical improvements. The beginning of the tank Pimm knew. Finally, almost a year later, another video. Genna, Ja'on, and Mira. The tank was only half a tank, though that fluid was in it. Genna was looking at a diagnostic, beginning to tremble. Mira was on the edge of the tank, resting on it, hands on Ja'on's arm. The two were looking at each other, before Ja'on spoke, "What is it, Genna?" The medic froze, looking up, "M...M'Lord. I....." Mira looked down, Ja'on looking to the medic. "It's ok, Genna. I know you're doing all you can. What does it say." Genna smiled, dryly, "She, Mira.” She finally looked up at the two, "Mira's organs are entering shut down." Ja'on nodded, and Mira clenched his arm, pain on her face. "I have finished the schematics, and the prototype is functional. M'Lord, we can finish the tank, and connect life support. It will keep her alive. But," her voice trembled, "But it will be permanent. She will be in the tank, no contact." Ja'on nodded, Mira looking to him, her voice tired, "Thank you Genna. Excuse us." The medic nodded, leaving the datapad, and left as the two looked at each other. "Mira. I." The Mirialan nodded, "I know. Love, do it." Ja'on blinked, looking at her, face dropping, "But Mira. You will be in pain. We've come far, but short of disabling your pain center, you always hurt. And if we do THAT, you lose your abilities. Love, I can't condemn you to that world." Mira reached up, stroking his face, "And if the Council learns you could keep me alive, and they will, but let me die instead, it's your head." He shook his head, softly, voice tight, "The Devil's deal. Damned no matter your choice." Mira bit her lips to stop the trembling, but her voice was soft, tender, "But, you WILL have me, still." He looked her in the eyes, and Pimm could feel everyone's hearts pull. He waved his hand, the machinery draining the fluid from the tank, opening the seal and stepping in, stroking Mira, "Then let me hold you." The feed died.

The next few images were of the tank building more and more, finishing with the monstrosity that Pimm knew, the Sith in front of it, hand on glass, the cradle holding Mira, her hand against his. The next was an audio log, "She says the pain is the lowest it's been since they started. I know she's telling the truth. I am thankful for Genna, without her, Mira would have lived in total pain, and already be dead. The tech itself, the biogel she devised. We've spread that through our medic core, they're starting to use it for burns and other lasting wounds. The newer pain control drugs she made have none of the drowsiness. But still," a sigh, "I. I hate myself. I hate her. Because, while she is a savior, my wife still is in pain. But, I do have her, if nothing else." It cut. One last log, dated over three years ago, "That last night with Mira. I haven't touched her since. I can't even think about her like that. Anyone else filling that role, just angers me. Will I ever know that comfort? That peace?" A shuffle of cloth. "I doubt it. But, that does not matter. Now, I’m just rambling, and lonely. I should delete this." It cut. The non-jedi all looked at each other, the implication that he hadn't been with anyone for three years was shocking to them. Satele and Serah felt mildly amused at that discomfort, but Pimm remembered how Bathar's comment to Ja'on in her dream hurt. He wasn't craving carnal pleasure. He was craving contact, intimacy with one he cared for. There were a few more pictures from the past three years, then finally.

The communications recording between the Captain and the Sith. The cut off. The repeated attempt for peaceful resolution. Comms to Pimm, telling her to intercept him in the hold. The initial maintenance reports showing the shield scrubbers overloading from Ion blasts, and engines shutting down. Comm from her to the Captain, begging him to let the Sith go. "Then you best be in front of those men when he starts swinging, scum." The comm to Darreck telling him to try and assassinate the Sith, solo, or his career and his family's lives were over. The communication from Malazar to Ondan. This...this drew outrage. Ondan tried to run, but was thrown back into the middle of the room by Master Serah. "Is this verified?" The Lieutenant General asked the SIS Colonel, who nodded. "I ran the key. It is authentic and verified. My copy includes the backlog conversations. My own agent who leaked the information is incarcerated." The General looked to Satele, "Master Jedi, if you would, collect Malazar. The senators, will be harder." Master Shan nodded, leaving the room. Pimm stood there, trembling as the three generals looked to Ackerack and herself. "Lieutenant, we apologize for this debacle. I don't even need to hear what happened in that corridor. Obviously, since no more men died, Lord Junath did leave in peace. You are cleared of all charges. Jedi Pimm, please allow the colonel to upload copies of that data to the secure evidence?" The colonel took the pad, tapping the link he had connected earlier, and after three minutes all that data was secured in archives, the datapad still in Pimm's arms. "You two may leave." Ackerack stood, saluting the three, and he and Pimm left. She felt numb. Seen his entire career as a Sith. His love blossom. The pain he felt. The joy of a child, taken too, too soon. His wife abducted by his own council, destined to suffer. And still, with all that, his eyes blue, civil tones. She didn't realize Ackerack was speaking. She looked to him when he stopped outside the chambers.

"Master Pimm, are you alright?" The Twi'lek nodded, sad smile on her face. "So much pain in his life. It's...." She couldn't find the word, the soldier just nodding. "I can't imagine. I remember Balmorra. The commander and the squads that did that....they died Pimm. Horribly. It started about three weeks after the attack. It took a month. Every body that was identifiable, their faces pulled into screams of pure torment." He shuddered. "Now I understand. The.....that poor man." The two walked in silence towards the taxies, Pimm just moving, lost in her thoughts. Finally, he spoke, "You know, Darreck makes sense now." Pimm looked to him, eyebrow arching, "I saw pictures of him when he was a child." He let out a soft laugh, "Something the men do. Share our lives. But," he looked at Pimm now, fully. "Darreck could have passed as Dust's cousin, or half brother. Back then." Pimm thought about it, the hesitation Ja’on had showed after deflecting the stray laser, him showing the young troop how to fire, to exercise proper gun control. He had called him "Son." A new lump in her throat, but she just nodded. "Pimm, will you be alright?" She offered him a smile, and nodded, her lek'ku up again today. "It's...just a lot Ackerack. She was the last thing holding him together. He held her as she died in his arms, because Ondan and Malazar," she couldn't stop the venom in her voice, and Ackerack's face matched her anger, nodding, "Because they couldn't leave well enough alone." The Soldier stood still, then reached up, resting a hand on her shoulder, "Please, I know your anger at the injustice. And the fact that there IS a Jedi who shows that emotion, is comforting even as it is disturbing, just a bit."

She laughed softly, drawing an infectious grin from him before he nodded, "But please, don't think all of us in the military are that way." Her smile was bright, sincere, as she shook her head, "No, I don't." They parted ways, she heading back to Master Serah's apartment. That night, Pimm was subdued, calm, and Serah let her be. The emotions Pimm felt, was pain for that man. He had been happy, and had buried a son, killed his wife for her own peace, scorned by those above him, expected to punish his friend below. How much more grief, pain, and sorrow could he hold. How long before his eyes lost the blue, lost the patience. She wanted, nothing more tonight, than to comfort him. Let him rest. To know he wasn't despised, or weak. The emotions she felt from Serah were shadows of her own. Both women understood that powerful man much better. Both felt for his pain. Serah just didn't ever see those eyes. Hear that voice fully. Recordings did nothing to convey the strength, or the true depths of his pain.

Finally, Pimm went back to her room, ready to sleep. She was drained again. The datapad on her dresser, the pain and memories it carried. "If...If I see him again," she assured herself, taking the pad and sliding it into her pack she always had during missions. She stripped again, sliding onto the cool sheets, falling asleep.

She stood before them. It was years ago, the first time the seven stood here, now mirroring the first meeting. The desk was back in place, welded back together. The scorch marks of the lightning on the walls, the blown out displays and fried electronics still a mess. The door, no long securing and safing Mira, left open. Her anger was boiling. These six. It was their fault. First, she turned towards the four soldiers. The mask on the desk, her eyes boring into the Captain. He swallowed, "M...M'lord. We had received intel stating two Gundarks would be attacking the northeast corner. We went there to defend." Her voice was tight, dark, lethal, "From who." The Captain, Jerreth, who had fought side by side with her eight years ago, swallowed, "Please, M'Lord. This is not bla..." "WHO!" she screamed. He paled, shaking softly, "M...Mira, Sir." Pimm shook with rage, but held back the pain. "Were there?" Jerreth lowered his eyes, "N...no M'Lord. We had no reason to doubt her! But when we saw the shuttle...." he trailed off. Pimm snarled, "Too far to return in time. Get out of my sight." The four soldiers left, very quickly, Pimm's eyes on the other two. Mark, Cipher, was calm, but Genna was pale, knees threatening to give. Mark spoke first, "M'Lord, I was at Intelligence. It was scheduled weeks ago. You know this." In spite of the most valid of reasons for abandoning Mira, he was still timid before that rage. A fraction of a nod, and he left, leaving the medic with Pimm, the two staring at each other.

Finally, the medic fell to her knees and hands, prostrating herself, silent save for the hyperventilating breaths. Pimm's voice shook, "Why." She felt the medic cringe, as though she had been struck, voice a squeak, "I....she......" before sobbing loudly. Pimm stood there, watching, silent, before the imperial gathered herself. "It....was my birthday M'Lord. After Cipher left, M...Mira...." Pimm lashed out verbally, "You do not have the RIGHT to say her name!" Genna wailed in response, trembling, but nodded in understanding. "Th..The Lady. She spoke with me. She knew I had friends with plans. Cy..Cipher left, you wa-wa-were at the Council. She told me to go, tha-tha-that you would be back soon. That sh-sh-she would explain." Her head lowered further, forehead on the ground, voice a whisper, "I'm so sah-sah-sorry, M'Lord." Pimm felt the fear, tasted it, Genna knew she was dead. But under it, deeper, felt far more, was guilt. She had relished her relationship with Mira. She truly counted them friends. She had simple orders, to never leave Mira. Now, she was dead. She felt responsible for that. She would never be trusted, and grieved the loss of that friendship. She had caused Pimm pain, and that hurt as much, not just guilt, but shame and self-loathing.

Pimm stood there for a long minute, before hissing, "I want to blame you Genna. To hurt you. To rip your throat out, to break you, to make you scream for hours." The medic trembled, but nodded. Pimm continued, "But the fact is. It wouldn't have changed a thing." A spark of hope shot through Genna, breath hitching. "If you had been here, you would have been incapacitated, killed, or captured. I would still have pursued. And Mira," her own voice hitching, "Would still be on Mirial." Pimm took two steadying breaths, Genna barely daring to breathe herself. "I have something for you." Genna rose her head, fear on her face again, as Pimm pulled out the package, wrapped, from a drawer in the desk. She looked at it a long time, then held it out as Genna rose.

"Mira picked it. We were going to give it to you when I returned." Genna took the present, opening it with shaking hands, and gasped. It was a gown, black, formal style, off the shoulder. She looked up at Pimm, confusion. "She knew you wanted that gown, Genna. It is weird for me to give it to you now, alone, since it could give the wrong message." Pimm's eyes met Genna's, the medic's mind a mess, 'Am I not going to die here?' and Pimm smiled, tight, small, but softness was there. "Happy birthday Genna. I understand." She stepped forward, gripping the imperial's throat, hand enveloping the entire neck, and squoze, cutting off the woman's air, Genna's eyes wide again. "I do understand. I really do. And I believe your guilt, and grief." Her hand tightened, the medic's face turning blue, but she didn't scramble to try and break the grip, just holding her present close to her body, the smell of ammonia filling the air. Pimm leaned in closer, eyes boring into Genna's own green and blue eyes. "Would you blame me if I killed you right now, Genna?" The imperial didn't flinch, found it difficult but managed to shake her head, just a hair in that grip, and mouth the words 'No M'Lord.' Her eyes closed, chin raising, accepting of her fate, ready to feel the twist, or the squeeze, for the pressure to explode, or the electricity to simply fry her. She knew she failed Pimm, but more, she knew she hurt Pimm. No. Not Pimm. Pimm shook her head, and something split, and she shifted. Ja'on, his eyes yellow, face contorted with grief, held the Imperial as Pimm watched from above. Pimm watched, knowing he could kill the woman in his grip, the woman whose fear was so strong at that grab that she had wet herself. And she knew the medic would take it. "Please, Ja'on. Please don't."

For a long moment, time seemed frozen, then the hand released, Genna's eyes flew open, and she fell back onto her heels. The bruising formed instantly, and the girl swallowed painfully. Ja'on watched her for a long moment, then reached up, gently touching Genna's neck. This drew a whimper, confusion flooding from her, until the swelling reduced. "I want to hate you Genna. But I know Mira would not appreciate that." His eyes dulled, the yellow fading, slowly, and he turned his back on her, resting his hands on the desk. "There is nothing you can do to make this right. And I don't know if I will ever forgive you. I will transfer you out, unless you ask otherwise. Now leave, and clean up." Genna opened and closed her mouth, trembling, but finally whispered, "Ja'on, I am. I am sorry." He nodded, "I know. And I accept your apology. But right now, I want to murder you." Genna nodded, and left, Pimm watching the scene, before her eyes fluttered open. She was in bed, in Serah's apartment. She went to her Master's room, woke her and told her. The two sat in silence, that man's control aweing them.


	3. Interlude: Two Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after the Court Martial, a catchup on what everyone is doing.

Havoc Squad was loaded into the carrier, breaking atmosphere, coming in for the landing. Ackerack was with his men, looking over them as the pilot brought them into normal flight from space. He had made captain after that whole debacle, though he still carried that grief he felt from the Sith Lord. "Alright men! We're landing in twenty! I know that normal garrison duty is a cakewalk for us!" The men gave a coordinated and enthusiastic "HUA!" before he continued, "However, Balmorra is seeing undue amounts of movement. Droids seem to be going haywire. Production is down across the board, both for us, and those Imps! SIS suggests there may be something more going on, but no one really can say. We are augmenting, and relieving some of those poor saps that have been here years." One troop asked, “We actually have a settlement there?” Acerack nodded, “Far from Imperial control, but yes.” There was general chatter of approval from his men. "Check your ammo, and get ready. Boots down in fifteen."

Darreck walked up, sporting a hefty looking autocannon. He stopped, ready to salute, before Ackerack waved him down. "No need, Sergeant. We're still on ship." The two shared a laugh, sitting and checking their kits and weapons. "Captain...I still can't believe it. It's only been two months, and I've been promoted four times. I mean, yeah, Havoc squad, but." Ackerack nodded, laughing. "Putting me to shame, Sergeant. I only netted one in that time." The two looked at each other, then back to their kits.

"Sir, permission to speak freely." Ackerack nodded, "Go ahead." "Sir, do you think about Kaas? About...." his voice was a whisper, as though saying it out loud would draw the Sith onto them. "All the time, Darreck. That was ugly. It could have been much, much worse. Or better." A deep sigh, regrets. Darreck nodded. "Why didn't he kill me?" he finally mused, and his CO looked over. "Honestly? I have an idea." The enlisted man looked back, nodding, eyes wide, "I'm all ears." Darreck had been wondering this thought for two months, to himself, and never made progress on it. Ackerack couldn't make eye contact as he looked back down. "I think, you reminded him of his son." The sergeant's eyes betrayed his shock, widening further. "He has a son?" There was awe, like he had heard something that couldn't be true. Ackerack paused in his check, just half a second, before responding, "Had. Balmorra. Sacking of Port Azmi." Now Darreck paused, looking over. "H...how..." he started, as the captain answered. "Eight years old." This hadn't been released. In fact, other than Ackerack was dismissed, none of the information from his court martial had been released. Darreck, who hadn't witnessed the love, the caring, the honor, still knew that he reminded the Sith Lord enough to drive him to teach how to shoot well. "And then...the cargo was....was his..." "Wife. Yes. He's buried both of them now." A light glowed green, and Ackerack stood, "Boots on ground in three!" Darreck stood behind his CO, kit strapped to his back, autocannon ready as the ship flew over the republic starport, the new knowledge terrifying and somehow comforting at the same time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pimm was on Tython, and she had realized why Serah was so shocked when they met up on Coruscant weeks..no...two months ago. She was looking at herself in the mirror, her eyes locked on, well, her eyes. The red had faded, golden hues showing near the outer ring of her irises. She still worked intelligence gathering, espionage, and the occasional assassination as needed, but she now felt the difference. Seeing Ja'on, seeing that power, emotion, and control, she had been pushing herself. Listening to Serah more. Trying, in earnest, to let her own pain go. It was hard, but she felt more in control of herself than she had in years. She still hurt. Still loathed. Still had that anger. But, it didn't control her. She was able to find that peace in meditation faster. She unwrapped her lek'ku, looking at the brand on her neck, then felt the one on her hip, covered by her robes. Her eyes flickered to her pack, the datapad still secured.

She would never admit it, but had on occasion looked through those images more. Studied him. Watched her. One night, she had dreamed it was her in that cage. The heat from that dream distracting her the entire next day. But that was all in the week following the court martial. Since the night after the trial, she hadn't seen him again, except that one dream, and that was fantasy, nothing more. But that thought did come, unbidden again, wondering what it would be like. She shook her head vigorously, moving to the holoterminal in her room. "In news today. Two senators, whose names have been omitted for security reasons, have been executed for treason." The video moved to a reporter, talking to a Brigadier General, though his face was obscured, and voice modified, but Pimm was certain it was the SIS officer. "I am sorry, but details cannot be divulged. All I can say is, they, along with two high ranking military officials, had breached classified information, and compromised an Intelligence mission." It broke back to the anchor, "Yes, we covered that a closed-door court martial involving two un-named officers had occurred two months ago. They had been, as well, executed. Beyond breach of security and treason, of course, no details had been divulged." Pimm felt the sick grip of pleasure at this. The four who had conspired, who would have tortured that poor woman for years for information on the net, had been dealt with. She went on to look at Porgs and Kittens, the images lifting the dark mood that those thoughts, that that mission always brought to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Genna sat alone at a table in the barracks. Mark was at Intelligence, Jarreth and one of the other soldiers on patrol, the other two asleep. It had been quiet for two months. She had requested to Lord Junath to not assign her elsewhere. She continued to work on the systems they had developed, working more on theory, but still making profitable progress. For a full month, however, she avoided the Sith. She knew his anger, knew he would kill her in his rage and pain, and while she would not blame him, she did fear that. The door opened behind her, she standing and turning. There, in the frame, was the behemoth of a man. She trembled, since he was not lashing out at her anymore, but still was cold, and she felt the pains of betrayal. "Genna. I hurt." Her eyes wide, she instantly moved to him, "M'Lord?" He looks at her, hand coming up, shaking, finger under her chin. "I hurt, Genna. I miss her. I need contact. I need...." he said as she moved her hands, undoing his robes, hands diving for him, "Please...let me heal you..." she murmured. 

The medic grinned to herself, a silly smile, the drink on the table warm in her hands. She had many fantasies, the soldiers “detaining” her as a unit, Cipher "interrogating" her, but Ja'on was always the one that made her heart race. "That, Genna," his voice cold behind her as her eyes went wide, standing and turning, Ja'on truly there this time, "Will not happen." She shook in his presence now, as he entered the room, the door closing behind him. Some of the edge left his voice as her eyes dropped, "Not that you aren't beautiful. But I just can't think of being with anyone like that." Her breath hitched, looking up to him. She nodded, tongue feeling swollen, "I'm sorry M'Lord. I...." she looked down, shaking her head.

He nodded in response, "I understand it. And, I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about similar situations." A flush filled her cheeks, lips pulling into a smile, but her voice was soft, subdued, "However, M'Lord." She looked up, sympathy in her eyes, "You are still grieving." He nodded, and sighed. "There is a formal event tonight. I know you haven't worn your present yet. There will be many people worth meeting if you wish to join me." She blinked after him as he turned, "Of course, Ja'on," she got out before the door closed.

That night was a blur of people for her. Generals. Nobles. Two from the Council, a viper-esque woman, and a quiet, thin man who smiled too much. She made introductions. Always bowing, always “a pleasure and honor to meet you.” The gown hugged her body, low backed, enough of a plunge in the collar to show some cleavage, the heels shaping her calves and bringing her head up to Ja'on's chest. He praised her work, mentioning the burn-gel she had singularly devised, the newest pain relief drugs she developed, drawing much praise. At the end, the two walking back to the compound, her head swimming. "M'Lord," she finally asked as the wine she had drunk loosening her inhibitions, "Why me?" She looked to the tall man, knowing there was more than just being arm-candy for him. He looked at her, "I'm being redeployed soon. We've exhausted our medical research, and without Mira, staying planetside is not....well not a good use of my abilities. Mark is going back to Intelligence. Jarreth and his men are being tasked to spec forces. You, however, have nothing worthwhile waiting for you." She watched him, awe and respect growing, the pangs of guilt gripping her stomach again. In spite of the pain she caused him, he would do this for her, "Don't dwell on it Genna." Her eyes went wide, then giggled, "I'm sorry, M'Lord." They walked in silence, "I think you'll have opportunities now." They passed the two night-shift patrolmen, entering the compound. "Good night, Genna," he said, turning to his room.

The medic stood, watching him go. Opportunities. She followed him, at a run, as he reached his door, it opening behind him as he turned to meet her, smashing into his body, eyes up at his, lips trembling, "Please, Ja'on. One night." He swallowed, flustered, as her arms wrapped around him. "No more than you want, I swear. But....please." Finally, he smiled, softly, and nodded, leading her into his room. The next day, was business as usual for them, though Genna could feel the soft appreciation from him. They had not done much, a little contact, a couple soft kisses, and slept, her curled against his chest and stomach. She woke up once, trying to not wake him as her needs hit her, but he did wake. His fingers.....she had to take a calming breath at that thought, but nothing more had happened. Now, all of them were packing. She had offers to work for the Council, four different nobles, to return with three extra ranks to the medical corps. Ja'on suggested one noble, who was as un-corrupt as they could be, or the corps. She looked at the two offers, then rung up her old CO, accepting a commission into R&D.


	4. Balmorra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havoc Squad deals with missing colonists on the more and more contested Balmorra, with some expected and unexpected help.

Havoc Squad rallied around Ackerack, looking at the topographical map. “Alright men, here we have a problem. We’ve helped establish peace, and relieved those poor men, and so on. However, there always is something.” A grumbling of noise from his men drew his gaze, “Enough gentlemen. I know we didn’t plan on being here for two months, but we’re still the best equipped to deal with these issues. Or would you abandon our colonists to these wilds?” He looked at the gathered men, all of whom looked down, a soft muttering of shame and apology from them. “Good. Now, our current situation.” The map zoomed in, showing the city the garrison was at, and some of the forward communities and towns forming, a solid distance away. “We have been expanding this way, away from the current combat zones, into untamed lands. While there was some indigenous life, nothing that was deemed too dangerous.” The map shifted on the display, across some hilly terrain, to a partially mapped area. “We have intel that the Imperials are doing the same. What we have gathered from aerial and intelligence, their colonies are smaller than ours, but are all civilian.”

The pause drew the inevitable question, “Why are we discussing these, Sir?” No disdain, but the shrewd realization that there was more going on. Ackerack sighed, and continued. “We have been getting reports of our colonists vanishing. Here, here, and here are confirmed attacks on our people.” The map lit up with each point from the Captain, “We do not have reason to believe they are imperial attacks, but that cannot be ruled out.” There was a muttering now, suppositions and thoughts. Darreck, very easily showing why he had made so many promotions, voiced the real question, “What are we going to do about this, Sir?”

The map showed the hilly terrain, extensively. And in spite of the mapping data, there was much the troops already did not like. Box canyons, blind corners, and the distance. “All we know is, that the attacks are originating from this region. If there are any survivors, as the evidence suggests, they are being taken back in this region.” Everyone fell silent, eyes on their C.O. and a steely expression on their faces. “We are starting a grid search. Unfortunately, due to the size of the area, and the need for us to find these people, we are being forced to stretch. However, the last permanent station soldiers are finally back from R&R, so we have better numbers now.” This drew a great deal of appreciation from the troops. “So, arm up, check your kits, we roll out in thirty.”

Darreck nodded, moving to his bunk. He started pulling out his full armor, donning it. Next, he checked his kit. Extra ammo cells, rations, then his cannon. His pride and joy, within the service anyway, was a Corellian Bunker Buster. Heavy, solid rate of fire, with explosive capabilities. He joined the rest of the squad, an additional thirty local troops filling out the ranks. They fell into formation, awaiting orders. Ackerack stood in front of the formation, looking over them. "Uploading now, is the topographical map of the region. Men, I won't lie, but as of this moment, we have no evidence that those civies are alive. We are hoping for the best, but if we do not find them," he fell silent, trying to find the right words, "If we do not find them, then we are not failing. What we CAN count on, however, is finding the source of these attacks! If it is local wildlife, a rogue droid, or Imperials, we will figure that out, and we will find justice for our people." As one, the entire formation let out an enthusiastic "HUA!"

The formation broke, loading onto the personnel carriers, rolling out of the garrison garage, and onto the roads out of the city. Soon, the ride became rough, as they left the beaten path, following foot paths and country roads to where the colonies had been forming. The interior displays of each troop's helmet showed the path they were following. Some of the troops around Darreck were talking, those men fresh off R&R relaxed, sharp eyed. Others were just staring steadfast at their weapons. The Sergeant, however, was scrolling through his map, scanning the region. He saw his grid he would be exploring, and did not enjoy the paths he would be taking. But, as he looked through other coordinates, he realized he had the path most likely to find the source of attacks.

Ackerack's voice broke over his comm, a one-on-one, "You see your area, Sergeant. I'm glad to see at least one of my men is actually preparing properly. I gave this region to you, for two reasons. First, is it does have the highest chance of finding our antagonists, and possible civilians." A soft pause, Darreck prompting, "And the second Sir?" Ackerack chuckled softly in his ear, "I know if you, over any other, finds the source, you won't be trying heroics. This is not an assault, it is recon. If you CAN save anyone without too much risk..." Darreck smiled to himself, "Of course Sir."

After Lord Junath had spared him, and more than that showed him some very basic, but very useful, marksmanship pointers, the Sergeant had re-evaluated his priorities. He was quicker to question orders that felt wrong, but more dedicated to those that were just and lawful. He also had realized that sometimes, enemies aren't the guys on the other side, nor are all friends on his own. Life, was a precious thing. He was also a little slower to make a judgement call, wanting more information. It didn't hinder his 'in the zone' decision making abilities, but he did look for other methods to get a job done over just killing.

Soon enough, the transports rolled to the latest colony. The soldiers all disembarked, comms silent, exterior comms off. Ackerack came out as they all formed up, the civilians in the small collection of buildings behind them coming out to cheer. "Men, you all have your grid locations. Get out there, and start the spread. Do not, and I repeat, do NOT engage enemies if you cannot VERIFY their numbers! Use comm for assistance. This is NOT a radio-silent mission, but keep chatter down. If you find the enemy, call for help. I will assign who will come based off feed. Now, all men activate armor cams." Every soldier flipped a switch on their shoulders, or helmets. Ackerack looked back in the transport he had ridden in, nodding. "All feeds accounted for." He stood, looking over the men, "No heroics, men! I want you all back alive. May the Force be with us! Fall out!"

Darreck moved up to his starting point, his fellows spreading. Those closest jogged over on foot, those that went further out loaded onto two of the transports, which drove off, letting them out. The display in Darreck's helmet showed him the comm was live, and Ackerack was on an all-call. "Men, be safe. Be smart." There was a few moments of silence, then finally, "Advance."

All the troops began to advance, sweeping the area. As the ground was right outside the colonized area, it was flat to start. But shortly, the terrain became uneven, the men shifting in their grid to not stumble, the hills growing closer with each step. Soon, the difference from the ground to the tops was four, then six feet. And very very quickly, all sight of the others was lost. The display showed Darreck his location, pings from his fellows, on-armor sensors filling out the map more, relaying information back. He saw as the hills grew from the simple wire-frame to more filled in, colors added, as each troop proceeded deeper into the terrain. He was suddenly very aware of his own breathing, the crunch of rock under his feet. He drew his cannon, barrel low, right hand on the trigger grip, finger on the guard. Little noises made him look around, but it was the wind, or just rocks. One tree rustled and birds took off into the sky as he grew closer.

Darreck followed through the various pathways he found, his map keeping accurate path history, so he never felt lost. But after an hour, he did feel tired. But, he knew what was riding on this recon, so he pressed on. Every so often, one of the men would click into his ear, reporting this or that. But no signs of struggle, colonists, or the antagonists. Another hour in, Darreck paused, resting against a tree. He felt uneasy, however. The hills were easily forty feet tall around him, climbable but imposing most of the time. But as he relaxed, he noticed that everyone else's data had stopped updating in his display, and the comm had been silent a long while. He keyed his comm, "Big little, calling Home base, come in home base. This is Big little." Instead of a response, however, he just got static. He started to flip through his displays, running a diagnostic on his armor, and his eyes inside his helmet went wide.

The diagnostics showed all the internal systems were operational. The sensors worked, updated the map in his helmet, his radio working. But it showed nothing being received, or sent. There was nothing. Not from a lack of range. Nothing at all. He pushed the system further, running a deeper diagnostic on the receivers. Finally, they showed him his fear. It was a signal, flooding the whole area. He was inside a jamming signal zone. He looked around, trying to find the antenna that would be the source, cannon at the ready. He swallowed, dryly, and slowly started to backtrack. "Big little, calling home base," he tried every few steps, eyes looking at every branch off. Then his sensors picked up that noise, the whirring of servos, the clinking of metal on rock. From his left and right in front of him, trapping him, and more noise coming from behind him. "By my ancestors," he muttered, looking for the most protected area, running to it as the small clearing he was in began to show the shadows of the droids. The first one drew a gasp, they were assault class, with four sets of dual cannons on it. More followed, some with modified grenade launchers, others looking like cages with grappling arms. From the sounds, there would be forty, or fifty, or more closing in on him. He primed his cannon as the droids started closing in on him, bringing their guns to bear.

His finger on the trigger, he aimed at the closest, ready as he heard the charge of the blaster, before he started laying down a wave of fire. The first droid was quickly obliterated, as the next couple started to open fire, forcing the soldier to duck and move, sprinting before unloading a few grenades of his own, more droids blown to scrap. He activated his exterior comm, yelling loudly. The rocks in front of him exploded, as he threw himself back, rolling to lay down more fire. He got himself to his feet, charging the grenade launching droid, then dropped as a gunner behind him unloaded its lasers, the one in front exploded violently. "HELP!" he yelled, trying to make his way back towards the colony, but was closed off. He was not going to go down quietly, however, running up one of the hills, lowering his cannon, and pulling the flare gun, launching the flare into the sky. 'If nothing else, they'll see that!' he thought to himself as he turned, laying down more fire and grenades below him, before he felt...something. He looked up, a blast of energy hitting the flare, extinguishing it, pushing it to the ground.

The soldier looked at it, his one way left of communicating, useless. A grenade blew behind him, throwing him down the hill, forcing him to roll down badly and bouncing off rocks, head spinning, ringing in his ears, and a sharp stabbing pain in his leg. The display showed the warnings of a broken femur, and a concussion, before the auto-injector hit him. The pain faded, though the normal wave of drowsiness that older drugs had didn't wash over him. He tried to sit up, bringing his cannon to bear as the armor became rigid around his leg, supporting it fully, which would allow him to stand on it. But the waves of droids in front of him were closing, when he heard a hiss, a hum, and saw a wave of black and silver. He blinked a couple times, before he realized it was a lightsaber wielding person in black armor, in the middle of the droids, cutting them down. Darreck got himself up as the droids shifted from him to the other person, that silver light protecting him. Realizing, quickly, that this person jumped in to save him, he got up and brought his cannon to bear, and started laying into the droids between him and the other person. He then started to sweep to the left, as the lightsaber wielder moved the other way.

The two working together did make short work of the droids. Darreck caught the occasional droid that may possibly have gotten an open shot at the other man, he shifted his focus to them. The Force user also moved to intercept any of the droids that would turn on Darreck. Soon, it was just the two, in a field of debris. Darreck looked to the one in black, bringing his cannon to bear, but finger was off the trigger. The other had their back to him, saber held out to the side, but neither moved. Darreck made sure his exterior comm was on, "Thank you." The one in black nodded, looking over his shoulder at the soldier, and Darreck's face grew bright inside his helmet, recognizing the mask's features. He swallowed, tightly, though knowing that Lord Junath had lost his wife and son. The little he heard from Ackerack, the Sith may be unhinged.

Darreck took a shaky breath, cannon not lowered, though Ja'on did tilt his head more, looking at the trigger grip, and the soldier's finger placement, before standing straight, losing the defensive posture, his thumb flicking, the silver blade of light vanishing. He didn't place the hilt on his belt, yet, watching the soldier. "Sir, I want to thank you, not for just now." The cannon's barrel was lowered and aimed to the side. Lord Junath lowered his head, a sign for the soldier to continue, "I took what you taught me, four months ago, to heart." He reached up to his helmet, breaking the seal, and removing it slowly. He knew he was defenseless now, but wanted to show trust of the Sith. "I appreciate you taking the time to help me learn to fire better, and that whole incident taught me to be a better decision maker."

Ja'on nodded, softly, before he hung the saber hilt back on his belt now. Darreck smiled, relieved, before he had to look down. "So, please, understand I am not trying to instigate anything," his right hand back on the trigger grip, helmet dropped, cannon priming, "But I must ask, what are you doing here?" Ja'on reached up, unlatching his mask, and pulling it off, showing a neatly trimmed van dyke on his face now, blue eyes tired and wary, but held no anger. His voice was calm, "I would ask the same of you. As a show of faith, I will explain first, but expect a return. Our colonies were spreading this direction, north of the hills. They had been attacked, decimated, though evidence suggested that the people were brought into these hills." His head dipped, still eyeing Darreck, lightsaber coming back to his right hand, mask held in left. "And yourself?"

The soldier smiled, relaxing, but this redoubled the urgency of his mission. "I hope you believe me, Lord Junath," and to this, the Sith rose his hand, "Ja'on, please. And it was Darreck, yes?" The Sergeant smiled, nodding, "Yes....yes it is, Ja'on, Sir. But my mission, is the same as yours. Our colonies are to the south of the hills, and they were being attacked. Our troops are searching now, though the Captain gave me this region, knowing I wasn't going to play hero." He looked at the debris, swallowing, "Not that it would have helped." Ja'on nodded, stowing his saber and pulling on his mask, "So you radioed for help, and they are inbound?" Darreck stooped, picking up and donning his helmet, "No Sir. All transmissions are being jammed, and I have no idea how far back the zone starts." Ja'on shook his head, "That means that we are close, Private." It was Darreck's turn for correction, "Sergeant, actually, Sir." The Sith looked at him, and nodded, sincerity in his voice, "Congratulations, Sergeant. However, we are still close. These droids came from somewhere. We may find them if we search quickly."

Darreck was torn, his desire to go back towards the colony, radio in, call for help. On the other hand, he knew that he and the Sith were more than capable as a team to deal with almost anything, and in spite of enemy lines, both were there to rescue civilians. "Sir," he started as Ja'on shook his head. "You may go Sergeant. It is a smarter plan, and I will not stop you. However, I would appreciate it if you stayed with me." Darreck shook his head, the Sith reading his thoughts unnerving to say the least, but came closer. "I will, Sir. And thank you for understanding." He couldn't see the Sith, but he liked to imagine that under the mask, the older man smiled, "And thank you, Darreck. Now, I felt you through the Force, and these machines once out. But I've been through this area three times already, and cannot find where they were coming from."

Darreck nodded at this, then started going through his armor sensors. "We have mapping sensors, but they are currently set to wide pattern sweeps, to map the area. Topographical, path setting, and the like." Once the interface menu came up, he started adjusting his settings, "I've brought the range in much closer, with high frequency pulsing, and gave a wire frame overlay." He looked to Ja'on as the helmet started showing the wire frame imaging over the ground, and the hills. "It sadly only has a ten meter range, with three meter depth search." Ja'on just watched, before laughing. "And what does that mean, Sergeant?" Darreck grinned under his helmet now, "I can see a wireframe outline of all the ground and hills. However, if there is a cave, or a hollow space, I'll see it inside wherever it is, so long as the wall between the inside and outside is less than three meters." To this, Ja'on nodded, "Ah! That makes sense. Now, the four paths these droids came from, are two circular paths, all leading here. I would suggest we take one path, and you look for a door hidden in the rocks."

The two moved to one path, following it, Darreck sweeping his vision left and right. His map did still update, and he saw where the path did loop back around to the clearing. Half way through, however, his wireframe showed a hollow on his left, leading to a steep ramp down. He stopped, Ja'on following suit, before the soldier pointed at the wall. The Sith nodded, sensing, feeling, and realizing. He focused, hand raising. To Darreck, it was an effortless movement, and the door set in the mountainside cracked, and opened. He then turned towards the path they had walked, and waved his hand. There was a rattling of metal, and the droid parts came flying towards them, embedding in the wall, marking the path, before the two started the descent.

The ramp went down, steep but an easy decline, and when they had walked a bit, it leveled out. Opposite of them was a ramp up, going to the other side, most likely to the other circular path's wall. To their left, the corridor branched off, leading deeper in. Darreck went through his menus, the close range mapper stopping, working on a larger radius. Ja'on, in his black, was almost just a shadow in the darkness. Darreck spoke, quietly, "Ja'on, should I illuminate? Or are you capable of seeing?" A moment’s pause, and then, as soft, "A tactical light, if you have it, please." Darreck flipped a switch, a tactical red light on his helmet illuminated the area, the two able to see now. Without a word, Darreck pulled out the first spare cell, loading his cannon and priming it, Ja'on turning to him now. "You're injured." The soldier shrugged, the pain missing, the mission more important than his splinted leg. However, Ja'on reached over before Darreck realized it, and a wave....of something. Energy? Light? Power? It was hard to describe. First, it felt like a wave of goosebumps over his body, then a cold sensation seeped into his skin, followed by a gentle warmth. His suit's body diagnostics updated, "Fractured femur, no longer injured. Concussion, no longer injured." The compression loosened, as he turned his look to the Sith, a moment of silence, before "Th...Thank you."

The two then started down the path. There were no other droids in the cavernous path. They reached a door, which opened for them automatically, and on the other side, they saw an assembly line. It was inactive at the moment, but they were able to see the excessive scrap, ready to be used. They scanned the room, noticing the door on the far side, which they moved towards. Ja'on held his arm up, holding up one finger, then pointed through the door. Darreck nodded, acknowledging that one person was through the door, and Ja'on made a second set of motions, first pointing at himself, then the scrap far behind them. Darreck thought he understood, but verified by tracing the word "Cyborg" on the stock of his weapon, and Ja'on nodded. The two then prepped, and the Sith Lord ripped the door off the wall, the two charging through.

The cyborg on the other side, stood in a large office, most of his limbs cybernetic, only his right arm flesh, with a voice box, robotic eye. He was grinning sadistically, "Oh, now this is a surprise! A republic AND imperial?! I never thought the two of you would ever come together. Not that it matters, of course. Your people are soon going to be harvested. Human bodies can provide so much raw material." Ja'on stepped to one side, silver blade emerging from his hilt with a hiss, Darreck moving to the other, the two flanking the cyborg, the autocannon whirring to life. The cyborg looked at the two, before his synthetic arm flicked, a ruby-red beam coming to life. Darreck spoke, "Now that's just sad. A Sith obsessed so much with his little project," and Ja'on finished the sentence, "That he would abandon his loyalties and sense of self." The cyborg hissed, face contorting with hate, before the fleshy arm crackled with electricity before discharging an arc at Darreck, and then leaping at Ja'on, swinging hard.

Darreck cried out in pain at the attack, but it didn't stop him, instead bringing the autocannon to bear, the capacitor screaming as the wave of laser blasts flew towards the cyborg, if off just a bit in the aim, away from Ja'on. Close enough to hit, but not catch the Sith if the cyborg moved. The red blade deflected most of the blasts, but the silver blade coming in forced the red blade to come back around, four of the bolts smashing into his side. "JA'ON!" called Darreck, thumb flicking a switch, as Ja'on leapt, planting his boot hard into the cyborg's chest, knocking him back as round after round of explosives smashed into their common enemy. The cyborg wasn't finished, though many flecks of armor had been blown off, and a few of the extraneous parts of his body missing. He screamed in rage, the voice box giving it a digital squeal, before charging Darreck, who kept up the explosives, though the red blade deflected most. Ja'on collected his energy, and Darreck, even through the helmet, could smell the ozone, before the cyborg was on top of him. Ja'on called, "Knock him back!" which Darreck did, a concussive blast blew from his armor as the cyborg leapt, the wave throwing him back in an ungraceful arc through the air, and Ja'on discharged the blast of lightning, frying out many of the cyborg's electronics. As he fell, Darreck charged, shoulder checking the cyborg, knocking him towards Ja'on who jumped, flying through the air, free hand grabbing the back of the Cyborg's neck, before a light of pure silver erupted from his chest, then a vicious slash brought that light up through the now dead man's chest, neck, and head, the corpse on the ground.

The two looked at each other, before Darreck noticed a last door, off the side of the office. "Ja'on, I think," to which the Sith nodded, "Yes. The prisoners." The two faced off, Darreck smiling inside his helmet, before he felt...something. He couldn't place it, but it was the oddest sensation. It was similar to when the Sith had healed him, but not so pleasant, and it stayed in his head. Ja'on turned, uttering a single command, "Come." Darreck tried to laugh, to say he was planning on it, but his legs moved, on their own, his face not responding to the urge to smile, voiceless. He started to resist, to pull away, but nothing happened. Ja'on spoke quietly, "Trust me," before kicking the door open, leading into the prison cells.

In spite of the request, Darreck was terrified. He knew that Sith and Jedi could read thoughts, control things, but this? This was horrifying. He couldn't move. He couldn't talk. All of his efforts to resist were fruitless, a marionette for the Sith. There were only two cells, which were on either side of the long room, with a corridor down the middle. Darreck recognized the missing republic colonists in the cell on the right, and only children wearing imperial styled clothing in the cell on the left. Ja'on looked between the two cells, standing tall, shoulders broad. The republic prisoners saw Darreck's armor, "Hey, trooper! Come help us!"

Ja'on's voice was cold, cruel, dark, "You stand in the presence of Lord Junath, Lord of Grief, Avenger of Azmi! You will NOT speak in my presence!" Most of the republic citizens fell back, a wail of fear from a woman, though one man, braver than smart, spat at him. Ja'on continued, "And this republic DOG is on MY leash. He will gun you down on a whim of mine." Ja'on then looked at the children in the other cage, Darreck could see the oldest was maybe twelve, the youngest five. "My Lord!" the oldest girl called, "Help us! Please!" With a snap and hiss, the lightsaber was in his hand and lit. "Help you? Pathetic children? Why would I do that? You have no parents to grow crops, to build things! You would be a drain on our resources. However, I AM merciful." Darreck's head was forced down, looking at the controls of the autocannon. And in spite of himself, he started thinking, in depth and detail, about every mode of fire. Lasers. Kolto. Grenades. Stunner. This he stopped on, then was forced to look up at Ja'on, then back down to the stunner. An image, of him screaming in primal fury, before unleashing that shot into Ja'on's back, flashed in his mind. "I will ensure your deaths are ALMOST painless, worms!" Ja'on smashed his saber into the lock of the cage, melting it, before slashing broadly, melting bars, then grabbing the door and ripping it open, the children screaming in fear, the republic citizens screaming in rage, "Leave them alone you filth!" One last thought, "Too little ammunition."

As the Sith started to enter the cell, Darreck felt that unearthly presence gone. He had full control, and realized the plan. He inhaled, and then let loose a primal scream, "I think not!" before bringing his cannon to bear on Ja'on, the stunner launching into the man's back, his entire body spasming from the charge, before falling to the ground, unconscious. Darreck brought his cannon to the lock of the republic cage, blowing it off with a grenade, "Let's go!" The citizens poured out, the imperial children terrified, as the gruffest man from the republic stopped, "Children, please! He will kill you, come with us! We'll keep you safe!" All the children nodded, running out of the cage, falling in with the rest, as one of the women asked Darreck, "Aren't you going to kill him?" Darreck looked at his cannon, then back up, "I can't. I don't have enough ammunition to get us back to safety, and he won't be down long enough to bludgeon to death. Better to retreat!" The civilians nodded, speeding up.

Darreck led the charge, leading the mass of civilians. First through the office, the cyborg still on the ground, though Darreck was shocked. The split up his middle, was sealing, internal pieces reaching and pulling himself back together. "Let's go!" he cried, following through to the factory, the group staying close behind him, then the corridor. One of the children cried, "It's dark!" and Darreck hit the switch for his helmet's light, the red tactical turning to a bright spot light. They continued to charge, then up the ramp, daylight ahead of them. Once the entire crowd was on the surface, they could hear the clink-clink of more droids, and Darreck called, "Hurry! More droids incoming!" The group ran, following the automap, heading back to the colony, when all of a sudden, the map filled in, "HOME BASE TO LITTLE BIG! DARRECK!" He keyed, "Little big here, home base! I have the colonists, incoming, hot on tail!" He could hear Ackerack's relief, "Good work Soldier! Backup en route!" Ten minutes later, he came to a halt, the group behind him, as he saw a blur of light, unsure of what it was, autocannon priming.

The field dropped, and Darreck sighed, the familiar red skin and black tattoos a pleasant sight. However, the crowd behind him let out a cry, one vocalizing the fear, "Another Sith!" Darreck turned as Pimm's lip pulled in a hurt snarl, but none saw that. "No, she is not Sith. This is Jedi Pimm!" The relief on the republic colonists' face was readily apparent, but the imperial children were still terrified. A younger man came forward, "Master Jedi, Lord Junath is in the cave that the madman who had kidnapped us lived in! He was going to...." he paused, looking at the children, then back, "He needs to be stopped." Pimm looked to Darreck, confusion on her face, and he was quick to respond, "Please, come with us, Master Pimm! If those droids catch up, I can't protect these people!" But Pimm was looking down, face pained. "I must stop him, Sergeant." Darreck shook his head, "Then wait for me, please!" Pimm shook her head, steeling herself, "No. Get those people back to safety. I'll keep the droids off you, and deal with him." Darreck knew there was a reason behind the charade, but wasn't sure what it was, and didn't want to break it yet, so he nodded, hoping Pimm could feel his mind, that Ja'on wasn't that bad.

He led the citizens back towards the colony, and Pimm drew her saber, the imperial children frightened of her, keeping wide berth. But when they were clear, Pimm extended her blades, the new saber still using her old crystals. She ran up the hill, flipping off it as the first droids started to come into view, one blade going straight through the head of the first, shorting it out. She followed through, kicking off it, sweeping through the next four in a single, fluid motion. She pulled a boulder from one taller hill, burying the remaining droids as the rock started a small avalanche, then charging. She felt the jamming field as she entered it, her comm dying, knowing that Darreck had managed to get the colonists out of the hills fully, the remaining troops joining him. She found the clearing with the destroyed droids, and saw the path of metal embedded in the wall, and followed it around, and finally into the underground bunker.

She was apprehensive, and fearful. While she had better control of her emotions, and was more skilled with her lightsaber, she remembered how powerful Ja'on was four months ago. If he had fallen, as the civilians made it sound, he would be that much more powerful, that pain spiking his power. She swallowed dryly as she went through the empty corridor, saber deactivated, then entered the factory. She didn't want to do this, at all. She wanted to believe he was good, and honorable. But now, threatening to kill imperial children? Not only had he lost himself, but he was a threat, to everyone. She steeled herself, knowing her emotions, her draw to him, would make her hesitate, and she could not afford that. She approached the door into the office, hearing a saber striking something repeatedly, before entering. There was a cyborg, cleaning quartered now, the pieces in different corners of the room, and Ja'on in the back, destroying a computer with his silver blade.

She ignited her blade, making him pause, his blade low to his side, pointing in, towards his left side, a defensive position, before turning to face her. She could feel....nothing from him. No emotions at all, his mind shielded from her this time. She fell into her own variation of Niman, waiting quietly for the attack, afraid to speak, that she would be unable to do what must be done. Finally, he spoke, "Hello, Jedi." This hurt her in a way she couldn't describe, that by calling her by her title instead of name made her less. Not less to herself, but certainly to him. She returned the greeting, quietly, trying to mask the pain, "Lord Junath." His silver blade shifted now, stance shifting just slightly, the blade pointing out to his right, left foot forward. She swallowed tightly, controlling her breathing, focusing inwardly, pooling her reserves, ready to unleash them if needed. He started a slow, methodical approach, her free hand coming up, feeling for tools, things to use in the room, her pain at his distance making her concentration waver.

"Why are you here?" his voice was distant, cool, regarding her, her frame falling back, just a bit, the energy she felt from him growing. "To..." she started, "to end you," she managed to say, but neither attacked, though her words did break his shielding, a spike of rage, mixed with betrayal in his heart. She trembled at that feeling, "Don't you see? You were going to kill those children! It was...it was fortunate....." At this he did pause his approach. "Yes. Fortunate that the republic soldier I had under my control," this made her clench, his admission to using Darreck, "was able to break free from my mind. And more so that he was able to, in that moment, stun me without me deflecting or dodging his shot." She froze as he spoke, "It was a shame, though, that he didn't have the ammunition to perforate my body, and that bludgeoning me to death would take too long. I mean," a little mirth entered his voice, "It's like he had one opportunity to get every prisoner out of here safely and it was only luck that everything came together perfectly." Pimm's eyes narrowed, "It was a ruse?"

Ja'on nodded, moving his lightsaber slowly, straight out to his right, arm rigid. He could defend himself in this position, but attacking would be foolhardy, his mask locked on her. She lowered her left hand, neither willing to deactivate their weapons yet, her voice soft, "But why that deception? Why terrify those children?!" His thumb flicked the power switch, his blade vanishing, then slowly being hung on his belt, then hands came to his mask, unlatching and removing it. Seeing his blue eyes, and that smile within his van dyke, she couldn't hide the smile on her face. She stood, relaxed, her own saber deactivating. "Do yourself a favor, Jedi, ask the children how they were being treated." That title again, it hurt in such a way. She stepped up to him, having to crane her neck to look up at him, his left eyebrow arching at her action, as she grabbed his robe. Her mouth opened then closed, unsure how to say it, finishing with "It's Pimm. Please....Ja'on." She couldn't explain it, but just being called a Jedi by him hurt her deeply, that she wasn't worth his concern. His face pulled into an expression of shock, but nodded. "Of course Pimm. I didn't want to act too familiar is all."

She nodded, "Thank you." Her thanks drew a smile on his face, which made her breath hitch, face and body flushing, looking away. "So what was going on here?" He moved to the head of the cyborg, "This madman, he may have had Sith training, was capturing colonists on both sides, harvesting them for...materials." His voice couldn't hide the disgust, and Pimm shivered at the thought. Ja'on dropped the head, moving to the destroyed console he had been attacking. "He has a jammer, this console controlled it, as well as a sonic disruptor. It kept the local wildlife out of his area, and could be focused. It was used to blow out a flare Darreck had used." He turned to face Pimm, who was staring at him, before he held up a data chip. "This has the information on the disruptor. No offensive capabilities, but it will help your colonies keep the wildlife out." She took the chip, putting it in a secure pocket. Seeing him again, all the memories of that datapad, the videos, his grief over his son, how he was four months ago, these all flashed through her head, chin trembling. She didn't feel his presence in her head at all, his lips pulling into a soft smile, "Pimm, I know we are enemies. I know I'm Sith, but I'm not a monster. You don't need to get upset because I saved information for you." She looked to his eyes, there was no deception there, he wasn't picking up her thoughts.

She looked down, unable to voice it, but she felt wrong that he not know. "I...I saw everything on that datapad." He stiffened, as she looked up. "Those two.....the general and captain...they tried to have me arrested, and Ackerack, the Havoc Squad C.O.? He was court martialed. In the trial, I..I showed them it all." He had grown rigid as his eyes were locked on her, his breath tight. "I....I...." she shook her head, "I was a slave, Ja'on." His head tilted just a bit. "Drugged. Forced to.....forced to do much. I was rescued from that, by the Jedi." He spoke, his voice just as tight as his body, a hesitant curiosity in his tone, wondering why she was sharing, "Why are you telling me this." She swallowed, dryly, "Because, with what I know of you, I....I don't know. I want you to know me, too." He blinked, slowly, and she felt it, just a little bit, of that rigidity break. He finally looked away, his eyes glistening. She reached up, resting a hand on his arm, "I know my words can't fix anything, and I know my sympathy means little if anything. But, I am sorry. For....for everything." He swallowed dryly, nodding. She gave him a soft squeeze, then, tentatively, fear in her voice, "D...did you kill Genna?"

This drew his gaze to her, face pulling tight, ugliness filling it, before he took a calming breath. "I mentioned her, that's right." But Pimm shook her head, "I bet that dress would have looked lovely on her." Pimm's eyes were on the ground, but she felt that pressure, that spike of power. She left her hands at her sides as his left hand became a fist, the right clenching like a claw. "The...the night after we met, I dreamt. I saw Bathar come to you. The implant. The...outburst." The clawed hand came up to her, slowly, and she couldn't help herself, her left lek'ku unwrapping from her neck, chin up, in time for that grip to make contact. "The next night, you dealing with your troops." That grip tightened, just a hair, as she fell silent. His voice shook with...a mix of emotions. "Why are you telling me. What do you hope to gain." Almost the exact same words, but instead of hesitation, these were pain filled, angry words, violated. She swallowed, could feel his fingers through the gauntlet as her throat moved to work it down, "Because I don't want to lie to you. To hide it from you." His hand shifted, the crook of his thumb under her chin, raising her face to him. She couldn't read his face, his emotions a mix. "How many other dreams."

She shook her head, softly, "J...just one. But it wasn't real." His eyes narrowed, and she whispered, "A fantasy." This seemed to satisfy him, the intensity lowering. Finally, he spoke, "No, I did not kill her. They are no longer under me, back to their respective services, with promotions for what we did." Pimm nodded, well, sort of, his hand preventing her from much movement. Her breathing was soft, and she really didn't know what to do. He wasn't hurting her, it was control for now. She didn't want him to pull away, but she knew she would be terrified, and react violently, if he pressed. Finally, her neck felt the cool air of the room, his hand back at his side, her own hands coming up, before her lek'ku was wrapped again around her neck. He turned away, looking at the wall, intently, as she came close to him, hand up to touch him, but refrained. "Ja'on," she started, before a whine made her stop.

He heard it too, looking around, before he grabbed at her arm, but too slow. The whine peaked and the sound of discharge, and Pimm felt...wrong. Her heartbeat was erratic. She couldn't breathe. He legs stopped working, his hands around her, only feeling the pressure on her upper back. The hand she could see on her stomach....nothing. "No, oh no," he whispered, lowering her to the floor, face down. "Pimm, you've been shot, it severed your spine." She blinked, then realized as she heard the whining die, one of the cyborg pieces had one last shot. She was so focused on him, she hadn't been paying attention to the rest of the room.

His voice was calm, "Focus inward, Pimm. Steady your heart. Make it listen to you. Use the Force itself, move your lungs." She began to do this, fear real in her mind, "Fear is an emotion. Emotions cloud judgement, cloud the mind. That leads to anger. Anger leads to suffering. These are the way to the dark side." Words that Pimm had heard hundreds of times, if not thousands. She could see Master Serah reciting the same phrases. She mouthed the words, Ja'on's voice against her nubs, Serah's voice in her memories, "There is no emotion, there is only peace. There is no ignorance, there is only knowledge." As they recited the Jedi Code, Pimm relaxed, found her focus, and her lungs began to work. It WAS work, that focus, but she felt her body responding to her thoughts. Ja'on continued the code, gently probing her back.

She felt a lift, then heard cloth ripping, and saw her upper robe torn in half down the back flop into view. But, Ja'on voice was still a cool, calming noise, the two reciting the code over and over. Above the wound, she felt the warmth of his skin, below....she couldn't feel it, but knew his hand was there. The two just stayed there, reciting the code in unison, her focusing the force to breathe and control her heart, and she could feel, slowly, something happening in her back. For so long, repeating the code a dozen, two dozen, a hundred times, and then again. Hours passed, the two frozen as they were.

Pimm awoke, suddenly, resting in the comfortable embrace of….she looked. Black robes under her, her own robes torn in half on the ground, the office dark. She was all but nude, but was able to breathe, realizing she felt her toes, her legs, felt him against her, every inch. It was cold, the air and the ground, but his body was warm. He woke up as she stirred, she could feel his heartbeat increase, his muscles stirring, before the slumped form sat up. The two were quiet for a long time, before Pimm broke the silence, "You healed me?" Ja'on nodded, "Yes, but it took a long time, Pimm. Nerves are the hardest tissue to heal." It was Pimm's turn to nod. Neither addressed her near-nudity, the only clothing she wore were her boots and the panties. They weren't risque, lace, leather, or a thong. Pretty tame. But with nothing else on, she felt very vulnerable in his arms. Like she was on display.

Ja'on shifted, and Pimm realized that while she was in his lap, she wasn't pulled up against his groin. She swallowed, looking up to his face, though she could barely see it with her eyes. "Will.....am....." She could feel him shake his head now, "You're free. I am not going to take you anywhere, Pimm. I wanted to make sure you're safe, and healed. It took us so long, when I finished, you had fallen asleep. And I was exhausted. I held you, but nothing more." Pimm nodded, relaxing. She believed him, settling back against him, still worn out. He shifted now, his arm coming around her, robe blanketing her. "Thank you, Ja'on," she whispered, eyes drifting, "Of course." A declaration, not 'You're welcome,' but a declaration of fact. Like helping her was the only choice he had. With that pleasant thought, she fell back asleep.

In the morning, she woke up, still nestled against his body, warm and pleasant, when she felt the disturbance. There were bodies, numerous, in the corridor, approaching the factory. She gasped, gripping Ja'on, which woke him up. The two looked at each other, fear on her face. Republic or Imperial, it was bad. He looked less worried, before the voice was audible, "Pimm?! Ja'on?!" It was Darreck, slowly approaching, methodical. As he started to enter the office, Pimm called out, "Don't!" The urgency of her voice only made the soldier burst in, autocannon drawn, freezing seeing the two where they were. The two Force users felt the second presence coming in, but Darreck actually stopped that, "She's ok, Captain. Just...." she shook her head at him, "Give me a moment, Sir?" Ackerack's voice came through the door, "Of course Sergeant. Any signs of Ja'on?" Pimm tried to not, but she snorted out some laughter. Ackerack's voice sounded amused, "That's a yes then?”

Ja'on didn't move, his robe keeping the Twi'lek's body covered. Darreck wasn't exactly sure what to do, so the Sith spoke, loudly. "Darreck, when you fled with the civilians, did you notice our antagonist?" The soldier nodded, "He was repairing himself, even dead." Ja'on nodded, "Yes. When your stunner wore off, I came out. I quartered him this time, scattered the pieces. When Pimm came in, we were talking, and didn't notice, but that segment," nodding to the mechanical arm that had shot Pimm, "had power and a weapon. It shot Pimm." Ackerack's voice now came through the door loud, "I hear her, but is she ok?" Ja'on continued, "Yes. I was able to repair the damage to her spine, but it took us a long time. And we both fell asleep." Ackerack sounded relieved, "Well, thank you, but why are we standing out here?" Pimm finally spoke up, "He had to destroy my robes to heal me, Captain."

They all were quiet for a few moments, before Ja'on spoke to Darreck, "Mind stepping out, soldier?" Darreck nodded, stepping out, the door closing. The Sith finally moved, and Pimm stood, slowly, her back to him, lek'ku wrapped around her neck, arms covering her chest, not looking at him. "What do you suggest we do," she asked softly as he stood behind her. She could hear the shifting of cloth on cloth, and the black robes, much much too large for her were draped over her shoulders. She slid her arms in the sleeves, and he took her own belt, closing the robes around her easily. He then took the hems of the robe, raising them high, so they would fall to her mid-calves, and she heard his saber ignite, before slicing off the excess cloth. She rolled the sleeves up high, smiling at him now. "Thank you, Ja'on," she offered, and he responded with a warm nod. "Of course."

Pimm collected the remnants of her robe, and her lightsaber, and stepped out into the factory. Ackerack came into the office, as Ja'on moved towards the door. Ackerack took his helmet off his head, meeting Ja'on's gaze. The two knew Ackerack had seen that datapad. Without a word, the two spoke volumes. Ackerack's own sympathy, his appreciation of Ja'on's help with Darreck and Pimm, and Ja'on's acknowledgement of those, his appreciation for the understanding. Ackerack finally spoke, "Be safe." Ja'on nodded, "May the Force be with you." With that, the republic troops turned and left the facility, Ja'on doing the same. They parted paths, heading opposite directions. Pimm did steal one last glance behind her, seeing that tall shadow step over the hill, walking away from her, and the others, his path his own.


	5. Interlude: Balmorra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pimm and Ja'on dealing with the aftermath of why they were on Balmorra

The trek back to the colony was uneventful, Havoc Squad mostly quiet, though Pimm could feel something going on in the minds of a couple of the troops. Not explicit, but lewd, one of the troops had thoughts running, avidly and loudly, about her. She had picked up images from him in the past, and accurately pinged him for having a Twi'lek fetish. She felt the disturbance, could almost hear the question, before Darreck responded over exterior comms, "She was naked, but covered by the robes. I saw nothing, so keep your questions to yourself, Jennings." This drew a round of laughter from everyone, except Jennings, and Ackerack.

Back at the colony, four additional transports were waiting for the troops, and colonists. Ackerack pulled Jennings to the side, the two talking via one-on-one comm, but Pimm could feel the wrath from the C.O. for the inappropriate question. She was used to being ogled, and lusted after, so it was nothing new, but the fact that the Captain was berating his troop for the unprofessional behavior was touching.

Pimm looked through as the colonists were gathering belonging, picking up the gossip and chatter. All knew the cyborg by now, and while they were now safe, the colonists could not comfortably stay. Additionally, the land itself had been damaged, and was unfit for crops. Finally, the Jedi found the imperial children. The oldest girl, about twelve, froze as they made eye contact, the other children filing behind her as the Twi'lek approached.

"Wha..What do you want?" the girl asked, fear in her voice. Even knowing that there was a reason, probably a damned good one at that, the level Ja'on had terrified these children broke her heart. She took her lightsaber off her belt, removed the power supply, got within ten feet of the children, and knelt, offering a smile. "I...I just want to talk. To you, to any of you. All of you." The child rose her head, defiant, "And why should we trust you?" There was distrust, and Pimm suddenly realized, she did not know what the non-Sith imperials told each other about the Jedi. In response, Pimm held up the powerless saber, open palmed, "I'll let you hold my lightsaber, without power so no one accidentally gets hurt. And I'll let you ask all the questions you want or need to first."

There was a murmuring between the children, before a ten year old boy came over, taking the saber, the other children closing in. Pimm smiled warmly to them, feeling the fear they had, the images of watching their parents killed, harvested for raw materials, the threat from that cyborg that they would be next, the pain as they were handled. She knew these memories as her own, in part. More than anyone else in the camp, she knew what it was like. While the republic colonists had been captured, the imperial children had been held much, much longer. The oldest girl looked her in the eye, "Are you going to steal us away, and brainwash us?"

Pimm blinked a few times, then laughed, shaking her head. "No. The Jedi don't kidnap and brainwash. If a child in the republic is found to be able to use the Force, their parents are approached. The offer to let the child come with us." The five year old, holding a teddy bear, "Can they see their mommies and daddies?" Pimm's face fell, as she shook her head. "No, unfortunately. It's part of our rules, because it can lead to a Jedi becoming bad. But!" she added, as the girl's face fell, "But, the mommy and daddy don't need to let the child go with. If the child, and the parents, would rather, the child can just stay at home. They are checked on, to make sure they're safe."

The oldest girl, the impromptu leader, just exuded skepticism, "So why did your parents let you go?" Pimm looked at her for a long time, before her hands came to her Lek'ku, unwrapping it, showing the scarred and marred brand on her neck. She wrapped the muscle back around her neck, then turned and slid her leg out, hiking up the hem of the robe to show the whole brand on her hip. "My parents sold me to slavers in Hutt territory. I grew up as a slave, beaten regularly, drugged constantly, made to do...terrible things. I was forced to watch other slaves die for sport, to try and please....." she shook her head, the oldest girl's eyes wide, the youngest not fully aware was what was implied, but every child suddenly saw in her, a big sister. "It was terrible. But, I was saved. My Jedi Master, Serah, found me. My owner at the time was a pirate, attacking republic and imperial passenger ships."

"After she disabled his ship, she boarded and killed him. The Jedi freed me, and I was found to be Force Sensitive. They offered me the chance to learn, and I accepted." This further cemented the trust in the children, her open and honest answer, the way she related to their experiences under that psychopath's hands. The oldest came closer, sitting on the ground in front of the Jedi now, awe in her voice, "And you helped save us?" Pimm nodded, then the child asked, anger in her voice, "Did you kill that bastard?" Pimm smiled, warmly, reaching up and cradling the girl's face. "He will never hurt you. I swear it." The relief felt by all the children washed over her, almost giving her an endorphin rush in and of itself. The oldest finally asked, "What do you want to know?"

Pimm looked at the children, as they gathered in front of her. "First, I want you to know, I am, truly, sorry. I wish that...thing had not taken you. Hadn't hurt you." A few of the children were on the verge of tears, but didn't want to cry. "We will do our best to make sure none of you are ever hurt like that again. Second, and this is a hard question to ask, so please, understand I don't even want to ask it. But, were there any others? Parents, or other colonists from your side of the Mountains? Or was your cell the only one?" The confusion from some of the children, unsure of how to answer, before the boy who held her saber, "All the droids took everyone, that I could see, to where we were. Is that what you mean?" Pimm nodded, the pit in her stomach dropping, before the oldest girl said softly, "We're all that's left of four colonies. He was going to keep us, because puberty changes hormones, and more materials to be...used."

This drew an anger in Pimm, her entire body tensing, lek'ku twitching in Ryl, cursing out that cyborg. But seeing the girl's reaction to her face, she smiled, "I'm just sorry I wasn't there to kill that cyborg myself," which drew an enthusiastic grin from the children. Finally, Pimm asked, "Listen, you are safe, but.....are you all ok? Can I get you anything." The five year old looked over Pimm's shoulder, the Twi'lek following her gaze. "He's mean," she said simply, referring to a rough-looking colonist. Certainly rough around the edges, Pimm didn't see anything inherently wrong with him, she turned her attention back to the children, "How?"

The twelve year old spoke first, "He laughed at us when we were crying." The ten year old, "Said we all deserved worse." An eleven year old zabrak, "Told the droids he'd help end us if the boss decided he needed kiddies." Pimm's eyes went wide at this, and knew not a single child was lying to her, feeling the man come by, controlling herself barely. "Hey...children. We're going to have some food before we board the transports. Make sure you come and eat, ok?" He turned without waiting for a response, and Pimm was confused to the core, the man had nothing but pity and a desire to help them in his heart. The boy spat on the ground, still angry. Pimm asked, softly, "When did he change?" The oldest caught her gaze, and responded, "After Lord Junath was going to kill us." The final puzzle piece clicked into place.

The Treaty of Coruscant ended the open war, but the Empire and Republic were still in a cold war. Pain, anger, and hate existed on both sides. Many would willingly go into open combat with the other side, and there was little sympathy or empathy from either. Ja'on threatened the children, would have "killed" them if not for the heroic rescue by Darreck. It was a show to shock the colonists into taking the orphans as their own! Pimm processed this in a heartbeat, and gave a soft smile to the collected children. "Ok, I want you to know this. And I swear it on my life, just so you know I mean it! A Jedi can feel other people's emotions sometimes. Just now, when he came over?"

The children nodded and Pimm continued, "He wants, truly, nothing more than to help you. He feels bad for how he treated you. When he saw Lord Junath ready to kill you, he realized how wrong he was." The children looked at each other, and Pimm grinned, "I'm not saying TRUST him, not fully. I mean, he's a grown up." A few laughs, mirth growing in the area around her. "And I'm not asking that you love him. I'm not asking that at all. I'm asking that you just believe me, when I say he wants to make sure you all are safe, sound, and healthy. It's ok to be mad at him, by all means," she got out seeing the boy's face, "But I'm asking you believe me when I say he wants to make sure you are all ok, truly." The five-year-old swallowed, but nodded, walking up to the Jedi, hugging her tight, "Can you be my mommy?"

It took some time, because she did not want the children to feel she was abandoning them, but Pimm finally got away, kneeling and meditating. The black robes had kept her decent, but they were a distraction. The size difference from his frame to hers made them, even tied closed, threaten to fly open. Additionally, they smelled of him. She calmed and centered herself, seeing the bigger picture from the going-ons on the planet, saw how the littlest things could change so many things down the line. She pulled out her holo transmitter from her pack, and noticed the datapad. A soft grin on her face, she shook her head, and contacted Serah. "Master, the threat against the colonists is ended." Serah nodded and smiled, then did a mild double take. "Interesting change in robes, Pimm," she said, drawing a smile. "We ran across Ja'on. He....is himself still. I'll tell you more later, but I was injured. Nearly fatal. He healed me, but my robes were destroyed in the process. This was his, given so I would not be exposed." Serah gave her a soft smile, a little tight, but a smile, "I'm glad you are still safe, Pimm. I will see you soon."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Jade Eagle fell out of hyperspace, the red planet of Korriban below. Ja'on piloted the craft carefully, meeting up with the docking station, and secured his ship. Ten minutes later, he was on the station-to-surface shuttle, then walking along the cliff edge towards the Academy, stride purposeful. As he passed the entrance guards and military troops, they all snapped to attention for him. Instructors and Overseers paused as he passed, acolytes trembling if his masked gaze fell on them. His aura was almost tangible, not as powerful as those on the Dark Council, but still not something one enjoyed standing in.

Ja'on’s stride never faltered, up the stairs, through the halls, one overseer running to catch up with him, only now did the Sith stop, recognizing the woman as his own from his days as an acolyte. He turned to her, locking her gaze with his mask, the woman gasping softly, face pulling into a grimace of sorrow, "Yes, Overseer." She managed to catch her breath, "M'Lord, I was...well..wondering when you would be looking for an apprentice." The old adage went, Those who cannot do, Teach. With her it was true. She was inspiring, hard, efficient. She molded acolytes like so much putty into Sith worthy of apprenticeship. But her own skill and ability to draw on the Force, use it, shield with it...was lacking. It was wit that let her survive, and knowledge that gave her worth. But before the Lord, she may as well have been non-sensitive.

Here, among those he called....well...not kin. Not brothers. Not even allies. But they WERE his own. Amongst them, he exemplified the Sith ideal. Showed his strength. Let his power run free. His emotions, mostly unchecked. Had Jarreth seen him here, the trooper would never think of speaking in the man's presence. And, as such, Ja'on exuded an aura of power. Bathar, obsessed with life and death, let out a corrupting, decaying sensation. Darth Raskar, a seducer of mind and body, venomous to the core, poisoning everything she touched. Junath, the Lord of Grief, used that. His own loss, every time, every love, added to his power.

Just standing in his presence overwhelmed most with a crushing despair, which the Overseer felt now, fighting back her tears, as though his loss was her own, a gripping hopelessness in life clutching her heart. To her credit, she remained steadfast in front of her now-superior, but it was a hard struggle for her. His voice was cold, "I am not, Overseer. That is all YOU need to know." She nodded, jaw quivering, before a sharp gasp, her body almost literally rising, as he stepped in closer, a little warmth in his voice now. "I know you watched over me over the others, Jean, not that it was needed. But do not think this grants you favor."

The woman smiled, shaking her head, thankful that he reeled back his power, for her, her own reasons and affections effectively buried deep in her mind. "Of course not, M'Lord. I just....you've been a Lord for years now, and not once considered taking an apprentice." He did nod in response, and she continued, "You know my methods. And I did learn from you, as well. Those that may not meet THIS Master's standards, does not mean they don't meet THAT Master's. If you do, please, consider me? You know I won't tolerate the weak, but I will not waste true potential if an acolyte doesn't meet your needs."

Lord Junath nodded, "I will remember that." Then turned on heel, stepping off again, and the Overseer shuddered as that trailing edge of his aura enveloped her, memories of her lovers, most dead now, students all who couldn't make it, with missed chances, before turning back to her class, lips curling into a snarl, "WORTHLESS!"

Ja'on continued through the corridors, into the central atrium, moving up the ramp. One acolyte, a pureblood, stopped in the Sith Lord's path, crossing his arms, daring the older human to try something. Other acolytes and apprentices stopped to watch the exchange. Lord Junath spoke, once, "Move." The pureblood let out a haughty laugh, "Did you all hear the HUUUUman? He dares to speak to one of the TRUE AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Lord Junath had lifted his hand, grabbing the acolyte's body, and threw him across the chamber, where he smashed into the opposite wall. There was a sickening crunch, before a wet thud as the body hit the ground, blood and brains left at the point of impact. The black and silver mask caught the gaze of one of the pureblood's fellows, a twi'lek male, who had flattened himself against the wall. "Who was that thing's Overseer." The young man, maybe fifteen, stammered out the name, before "I will be speaking with them. Now. MOVE." In spite of the force and intensity of that last command, it was barely above a whisper, everyone on the ramp to the second floor flattening themselves against the wall, the Dark Lord continuing his ascent, as the cleaning droids moving to dispose of the corpse.

At the top of the ramp, Ja'on continued through more corridors, before stepping onto the elevator to the Dark Council, arms behind his back, hand in hand at his waist, waiting as the platform rose. As it finally stopped, he stepped out, the final guard before the Council room stopping him for a moment, before allowing him through.

Inside the room, Bathar, Raskar, and Dellick, the scrawny Lord that Ja'on had introduced Genna to at the event two months prior, were in their chairs. The remaining Lords flickered into being via holoprojectors, those lords not available to travel to Korriban for this meeting. Darth Junath stood in the middle of the room, pulling out a datapad. "Former Sith Lord Jykar, dead. Had left to pursue further study of cybernetics, droid AI, and possible inclusion of the two. All said and done," his voice bored, "A failure on all accounts. His perimeter defenses included standard military grade transmission jammers, and a Sonic Disruptor variant. This was effective at keeping wildlife at bay, and could be focused to," he laughed dryly, "extinguish and knock down Flares. Nothing more. Zero effect from the sonics on humans and near humans. Zero effect on droids, communications, and Force sensitivity."

Raskar leaned forward in her chair, lips a bright pink, hair in a loose bob, her robes showing most of her stomach and hefty amounts of her bosom. Tight leggings, her body admittedly desirable for almost any who preferred females, her voice sweet and soft, "And of Jykar himself?" Ja'on shook his head. "The cybernetics failed. While his theories on self-repair, to fix the body once it was damaged, did in fact work, the AI in them overrode the man. His own mind existed, but only barely. Almost nothing of the intelligence was left. Post-mortem weapons platform lost all targeting abilities. Lightsaber augmentation weakened the blade. And using internal power supplies to augment Force abilities failed, or weakened the abilities. A non-sensitive took a lightning blast dead on, it didn't even stun him. All in all, a pathetic waste of resources and time." The Lords assembled nodded, as Ja'on pressed a couple buttons, uploading the data. "Schematics for the sonic disruptors, may be useful for future colonies. New droid designs, all found to be inefficient, but may have use. The cybernetics themselves, just for proof of failure." Bathar then spoke, "And the colonists?"

Ja'on looked at him. "Dead, harvested for hormones and raw bio matter. Republic colonists also captured and harvested." A blatant and direct lie, but Bathar's grin broadened, "How delicious. But terribly inefficient." Ja'on nodded, then bowed to the council, "By your leave, My Lords." As the projectors died, Bathar waving him off, Ja'on rose, turned, and left the room.

Lord Junath left the hall, descending on the elevator, losing himself momentarily in the corridors. He didn't have a mission, yet, nor did he have anywhere to be. Didn't have anyone to see. So just wandering and thinking was pleasant. He felt her before he heard the footsteps, however, pausing at first, then stopping fully as Darth Raskar came around the corner. She was, without fail, beautiful. Aesthetically, with a symmetrical face, a pert nose, with a narrow bridge, high, prominent cheekbones, a slender jaw, a pointed, but soft chin. Her eyes blood red from years of immersing herself in the Dark Side, but even those shades were differing, showing that prior to the staining, they were differing colors. In spite of the corruption, her skin was vibrant, full of color. Her hair was silky, long but in a soft up-do, a vibrant red. Then, her body was, beyond beautiful, but sexy. Full breasts, slender waist, full hips, long legs. Her neck slender, just long enough, fingers slender and visibly flexible. She just exuded raw, primal desire, and few who fancied women were unaffected by her appearance.

Even beyond this, she dressed to show off. Her robes were red and deep violet, the patterns accenting her frame. The front was not just a plunging neckline, it was all but open. The full sides of her breasts fully visible, as well as her stomach, enough muscle visible to suggest strength, but her skin was smooth, the tip of the plunge below her waist. Her arms were snugly encased in the colors, her legs similarly dressed in leggings, with high boots, soft leather with silver trim, and long pointed heels, further shaping her legs and rear. "Lord Junath, a moment of your time?" Her voice soft, smooth, and sweet. It felt like satin on the ears, her body swaying with each step. Ja'on watched her approach, the sight of the soft sway, the jiggle, her right thumb not tucked in her fingers, but sliding between them, fingers moving up and down suggestively. "Yes, Darth Raskar?"

She came up to him, resting her left hand on his chest, softly pressing. He yielded, though her close contact drew no reaction from him. "I wanted..." she said softly, looking first at his chest, then up to his mask, right hand coming to the base of her neck, sliding up her slender throat, "to personally thank you. About Jykar, I mean." She gave him the soft, lippy smile. He felt the soft tugs in his mind, but remained quiet. "As a former apprentice of mine, I am glad that fool is gone, though I am sorry that YOU had to clean up that mess. But more than that," she pressed against him a little more, the front of her chest almost against his body, "You executed all the data gathering the other Lords requested. Beautifully. I have always known you would be...special, strong. But even I had no clue how truly...wonderful, you could be." Her cheeks flushed, looking away, "Listen to me, prattling on like a schoolgirl."

When he said nothing, she looked back up at that mask, pushing a little more, him back stepping against the wall, her chest against him now. "I know it's been months since your poor wife was lost," another soft tug in his mind, "And years since you could touch her last." Another tug, his eyes behind his mask narrowing. "I have always known, as I said, that you were special. It is why I have always spoken for you, highly of you. You are...powerful. And one I have always, in my own way, adored. Then, you never ask for reward. For praise. For Glory. You learn, you grow strong. You could take...ANYTHING you wanted," she pressed fully against him now, her own stomach against his groin, feeling the size, eyes widening a bit, true shock in her face and mind, "And by the Force it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity to experience," she breathed, heavily.

He was still silent, her head tilting just a bit, rising just a bit on the balls of her feet, then back down. "Will you? Let me thank you?" Her hand still on her throat ran up and down against, bottom lip vanishing between her teeth. Ja'on just stayed quiet, before the cool, dismissive word, "Pathetic." Certainly not the reaction the woman had expected, but the smile, the pressure didn't fade, though he felt the tug again. "I...How do you mean, darling? You are spectacular, and I wish to..." He cut her off, "You want me as a tool, Darth Raskar." Her face froze at his words, and more from the total lack of emotion behind them.

A little of the ugly filled her eyes now, but didn't reduce her attempts to tempt him. "Lord Junath, by your own accounts, you are already a tool of the Empire and the Dark Council, how much more could I use you?" He let out a disdainful snort, "Beyond all that, weak to boot. Darth Raskar, I KNOW you. I have felt you tugging, subtly, softly, trying to poison me. It is your gift, and it has brought you far. Poisoning lovers to enemies, tainting Masters and Apprentices. But now, you attempt to turn me from my wife, my son. Do not debase yourself by lying now." The pleasure from her face vanished, though a new flush filled her cheeks, a manic energy in her eyes, the grin turning venomous. "And those attempts are just....laughably pathetic. You want me to despise them, so I come running to your bed chambers, or take you here in the halls. And it's just....sad." He said all this in an almost bored tone.

Now, her lips pulled into a scowl. "So? What if I am. You are strong. Powerful. MAYBE you may even be capable of truly pleasuring me! It doesn't change the fact you haven't had physical release in years. I'm offering that. And, unlike any others I give that pleasure to, I WASN'T going to ask for anything in return." Not hurt, not even angry. But the refusal was not something she was used to, the dismissal. He had balls to speak to her in such a way, and it excited her. Five years prior, he had kicked Mathick's corpse, splitting it into two pieces. This one was strong, truly powerful, and while he was right, she wanted him in her pocket, the night she offered was strings free.

"So you try to gently make me loathe my past?" He shook his head, disdain now entering his voice. "You named me, Raskas. Lord of Grief. And yet, years later, you have no CLUE what that means." He stepped against her now, forcing the much smaller woman to step back, her breath coming quicker. There were only one or two times in her life since gaining her own Darth title that she didn't feel in full control, and those never involved seduction, or her chosen partners. This was a first for her in a long time. "If you want to ride me, if you want me in your bed, don't be subtle. TAKE me. MAKE me loathe them." He turned his chin up at her, looking down dismissively, "If you can that is."

"I wanted you to want me, Lord Junath, but I AM still a member of the Dark Council, and I will NOT tolerate such behavior!" She pulled down on his robes, and he actually just knelt, coming to her level, causing her upper lip to twitch into a half-snarl. He was taunting her, making it as easy as he could. Her right hand lashed out, grabbing his mask, "But you have challenged me, and now, I will." She focused all her energy into him, sinking into his mind, his memories, thoughts, flashes of images and emotions. She was startled, inside him, at the sensation. Just...gripping pain. A weight on her heart. She reached, drawing up memories of Mira. Their wedding, a perfect start, trying to shift it. Make him realize she would die...when she saw it fully. Not just them on the field, but surrounded by dozens of her, on the table full of implants screaming in pain, lifeless in a pool of biogel, screaming at him that their son's death was his fault. She shifted, their wedding night! Mira seductive, voice soft, breathy, "I love you Ja'on," before vanishing, the home destroyed. The birth of their son! Already tainted with images of the fear of bloody miscarriages, or the truth of his body in a coffin, so shot up by republic blasters that his torso couldn't hold its shape. His promotion! Knowing it condemned Mira to pain for life, which he couldn't save. Every attempt, she tried to poison his emotions, remove the pleasant aspects, but she found none. Every pleasant thought, memory, and idea outweighed over and over with pain already. And each failure, that weight on her heart grew heavier, harder to breath, and for the first time in a long time, Darth Raskar felt fear. "No," she whispered, trying more and more. His apprenticeship, the weight of all his dead fellows behind him, the betrayal in the future. Purchasing Mira tainted with knowing the future. "no," she whimpered.

Parents, dead. Lovers, cut down by his hand. Carnage and destruction, the pain of those lost on his side. The thrill of combat, never finding a true equal. Knowledge, that it was pointless. "NO!" she cried, the weight in her chest threatening to snuff her, she pulled back, the memories followed, pursuing her! Every action leading to more pain, more grief. Nothing would ever be enough. She finally managed to disengage, falling back, stumbling, and dropping to her knees, eyes wide at the man before her, breathing fast and shallow. He stood, slowly, mask always locked on her face, her gaze forced, against her will, up with his motion.

"And now, Darth Raskar, you see what I mean. You can do nothing to me. You can't poison my memories, they are already poison. You can't make me hurt more, regret more, loathe more. There is no further I can descend." Her jaw quivered now, lips parting. "You have NOTHING you can offer me." This struck her harder than if he had simply backhanded her! "I just wanted to enjoy a night with you," she stammered out, drawing a dry laugh. "If I wanted pleasure, I'd go to the pens and take a slave. I know of your abilities, the fact you can read your partners, shifting your reactions to what they crave, responding in ways they cry for. I know of your capability to moan just the right way, to know to touch here, to kiss there, wiggle the finger this way inside her, or squeeze just THAT much more around him. All of that is entertaining, even titillating to watch, to be sure. And I know you can, and have literally on occasion, driven your lovers insane. But in spite of ALL that, you could never, please, Me."

"Oh, and those pathetic slaves could? Is that it?" He nodded, "Yes. Because if I wanted to hurt them, I could shock them, break their bones, ravage them, and they would scream for me in such delicious ways. If I wanted tenderness, they would dance for or sing to me. If I wanted loving, they would whisper sweet nothings as they caressed me. Because, with them, it would be REAL. You are a fantasy, Darth Raskar, every being's desire. But the reality is, no matter what you do, or let be done to you, it means NOTHING from you." She quivered soft at that, anger filling her, but the earlier sensations keeping her still. "Even now, shaking with rage, if I decided to use your throat, it would mean nothing to me. Those slaves, at least, are REAL. And that's all that matters."

Darth Raskar tried to get to her feet, but found it difficult to stand, shaking as she was. "Why is that?" she spat, as Junath looked down at her. "Even as you saw inside me, felt me, saw my memories, you don't understand?" He laughed that cold, dry laugh, "You couldn't survive if I showed you." That fear Raskar felt deepened, and she wanted to do nothing but retreat. But she was a Dark Lord, member of the Dark Council, and he was JUST a Lord. That anger, that contempt, overrode her fear. She didn't have the same confidence as he did, but challenged him. "Show me then."

Lord Junath reached up, unlatching and removing his mask, and Raskar gasped. His irises were soaked red, but the Sclera, the white part of the eye around the iris, was jet black. He didn't even touch her, but she was thrown inward, memories called unbidden. The first time she manipulated her parents to get a shuttle....that had been crashed, lost. Making them divorce, her mother remarried and in Republic Space, and father never speaking to her. Her first lovers she seduced, dead. Her first Master, dead, his projects gone, her reasons to turn on him lost. Lovers dead, or gone. Allies lost. More and more, she saw all her manipulations, and the results. Most never thought of her, those who she had real impact on gone. Plans and plots ended with no lasting results. "Stop," she whimpered as that grip on her heart grew. Allies using her as she used them. Those she turned away from the ones she wanted had hurt, but most were happier because of it.

"stop!" she cried, shaking, as more and more memories came, ones she had forgotten. They were so important at the time, first kiss, first blush, first time with a man, first time with a woman. At that time glorious, but ultimately forgotten even by her. More and more, expanding. Every thing she did to spread herself, seeing less and less effect of every action. "stop," she whispered, that weight making it hard to breathe. Further and further it expanded, even beyond her now. The movements of the Sith themselves, every win in the war was countered by a loss. This technology gained, that technology lost. For a brief, painful moment, she saw the galaxy, every part of everything, everyone. Species rising and dying before being discovered. Races and families killed off by others, who all in turn died. All leading to...one....final...conclusion.

"PLEASE!" she finally screamed, the crushing despair of the inevitable end of everything, showing that no matter what, NOTHING would matter threatening to destroy her fully. She felt him leave her mind, looking up at him, body trembling, feeling cold, goosebumps on her entire body. That hopelessness, knowing in her soul that nothing mattered, made everything pointless. She looked in those black and red eyes, realizing he carried that, all the time, every moment of life. And yet, he still..stood. "Now. Now you see." Tears streamed from her eyes, "Please.... please take it away?" she begged, drawing a pitying smile on his face. "Why should I? What will I get?" Her hand came to her robe, pulling it open, starting to expose herself, when the crushing pain of realizing it would mean nothing, at all made her freeze. "I...." she started, before taking her lightsaber. "Take it away," she begged again.

He laughed now, "Strike me down, it will change nothing." He was right, this despair clutching her would never leave. Attacking him, even more pointless than trying to sleep with him. Instead, she looked at the focusing lens of the weapon, then brought it up under her chin. "Do it then," he said, cold, indifferent. "None will mourn you. The only celebration will be for those fighting to take your place. Just to find life just. As. Pointless." Raskar sobbed openly now, dropping the weapon, hopelessness consuming her. "Please. Please." she just repeated between her sobs. At this, Junath came down, grabbing her throat, hard, forcing her eyes to his. She could not make herself look away, those pits with red rings reinforcing the pain in her chest, face paling. "Two things. FIRST, you will owe me. I will contact you. You have power still in that room, and I will call on it. And you will NOT question it." She nodded, and even though he was giving conditions...it didn't mean...anything. "Second. Do not, ever again, TRY to seduce me. To taint me. Do not raise your fist against me. There is nothing in this galaxy you could poison against me, but if you even TRY, I will find you, I will destroy all your power, and I will plunge you into TRUE grief, expose you to the FULLEST weight of that despair." His chin lifted, "And then I will make you incapable of ever dying." Her eyes widened, knowing he spoke the truth, that she didn't have the full weight he carried, and that future, knowing that she would feel it completely, and have no escape, seeing in her mind the tank that his wife had been in, kept alive, even the poisoning from the implants incapable of shutting down her organs. Raskar's eyes went wide, head shaking, "please, please please don't!" she hoarsely whispered through his grip. He shook her, silencing her, "Am I clear." She nodded, "Yes. Yes I agree."

He held her like that for a long moment, before a "Good." Her eyes blacked out, still conscious, but unseeing, deaf. She flew through the blackness, all consuming, weighing her down, before she saw glimmers of light. Her father, looking at a picture of her and him, smiling. Her mother, looking wistfully at another redhead, wondering how her daughter was. An old lover, dreaming of her body. More and more, she saw the other truth. It may be pointless. All may die, and be lost. But for now, in the moment, in the memories, those moments did matter. She was still trembling, that despair on the edges, but the grip on her heart loosening. She felt the cold floor under her, his hand off her neck, standing and donning his mask. She looked up at him. It had been years since she had truly been that, completely, helpless. It wasn't thrilling anymore. It was now just terrifying. She swallowed, trying to push herself up, and while she couldn't look up at him, "Thank you," she did offer. "Don't forget," was all he replied, and she nodded. A final thought, "Lord Junath," she called as he turned away, making him pause, "I....I did mean it. About the night." She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to warm the chill she still felt. "No strings. And....if you think, or feel, the....the desire." She took a deep breath, looking up at him, "I think it would be real with you, now." He watched her, a moment of panic setting in her heart, before he nodded, "I will remember that." He then turned his back on her, the first she could ever think of in her entire life who had, and walked off. She knew this much, until she died, this moment would stick with her.


	6. Taris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with his grief, Ja'on takes a mission to Taris to deal with some rakghouls

In deep space, adrift, light years from any system, the Jade Eagle was alone. Far from derelict, however, the exterior lights kept the frame of the modified light freighter in view, should any approach. Originally an antiquated Herald class shuttle, the engines had been replaced with imperial Ion engines, the classic imperial design, boosting its speed. The black panels that powered the engines were on the wings. These were further modified with S-foils, letting the ionic panels to fold or unfold. In addition to the old standard turbo lasers on the tips of the wings, the panels were ended in their own, with dual ion cannons for the top, and two more standard laser cannons below. The point defense cannons were removed for dual torpedo bays. The interior was also renovated, centralizing controls, an astro navigation AI installed, maneuvering thrusters added and modified. In spite of its size, those that knew of the Eagle realized it was as agile as most fighters.

The interior was also redone to match the needs of its pilot. The bridge was still big enough for two, but the placement of the consoles and controls had changed for a single central seat, the second still by the primary sensor readouts, but those displays had holographic displays in front of the pilot. The rest of the interior, from the sparse sleeping quarters, to the moderate cargo hold, and the reworked engine room showed a singular aesthetic, of efficiency. There was a minor medical bay, a long range communications holoprojector, and a brig with four individual cells. The sleeping quarters, where Lord Junath rested, had a too-large bed and a wardrobe. Off to the side of that was the fresher, to relieve one's self and clean. The passenger room was sacrificed for the other additions, but it being used partially as the brig and weapons storage for the torpedo bays didn't seem jarring.

All said and done, the ship exuded a sleek power, even as it drifted with no course set in the navigation computer. The ship's AI whistled and beeped to itself, happily, before Ja'on awoke, stirring under his sheets, rolling to sit on the edge of his bed. He felt...old. And tired. Shaking his head, he stood, the sheet falling from his nude form, the AI whistling loudly in a cat-call over the PA. In spite of himself, Ja'on laughed, shaking his head, moving to the fresher to clean, "Not now, R7. Please." In the spacious room, he stood before the one mirror he had, looking at himself. His van dyke had grown shaggy, new creases in his face, eyes moving to the scars over his shoulders, then torso. All who had seen him, even armored, knew he was massive. His muscles, however, didn't shine and bulge, with every contour a crease in his skin. That's not to say he didn't bulge, but he had decent amount of fat to insulate and keep his body running right. His pectorals were pronounced, and he could see the abdominal muscles, but these were all softened by more of the bulk. Finally, he looked at his eyes.

It had been...what....six months now since Balmorra? Six months since he let himself go, fully, into his grief, to show Raskar why her machinations would not work on him. Six months since he poisoned his body and heart to the point that his mask was not required to hide his blue eyes. But even now, six months later, his sclera were still closer to black than white, the outer rings of his irises only now beginning to show yellow through the red. Sighing, he stepped into the shower, the water hot and forceful, letting that heat massage his body. After leaving the Dark Lord, he ran into the Overseer of the pureblood he had murdered, who accosted him. Complaining of losing such a great acolyte. And and and...then he fell silent, the masked gaze of Ja'on shutting him up.

He had then found Jean, and her class, an idea to pull him from the despair he barely held on through, took a training blade. With weapon in his left hand, he had placed his right behind his back, gripping his belt. Without activating the weapon's vibrator and energy field generator, he had Jean's class attack him. As a whole. The acolytes were hesitant, but their Overseer's voice pushed them into action. Only ones and twos started, working in a, admittedly excellent, tandem, coordinating with each other. And yet, the Lord didn't deflect a single blow. He simply dodged every swing. Jean's voice pushed more into action, the huge man dancing between the six, then eight blades. The first two nodded to each other, and they kicked it up a notch, stopping their fear of the man, trying to now kill him. "About time!" Jean called, and soon all twelve were moving around and after him. Finally, his blade came into play, and it was still off, instead using it to push the acolyte's arms to give himself room to dodge.

The two leads locked gazes, nodding again, then went in for a powerful, Force-fueled dual attack, both blades coming in from the Sith's front, high and low. Finally, his blade hummed to life, clashing hard with the two. Both of the acolytes had used both hands on their blades, their entire bodies behind the attack. He, on the other hand, used only his left, his blade grip high, pointing down, and it looked like the two had faked the attack, their blows stopping dead at the contact. By this point, dozens of acolytes, overseers, visiting Sith looking for apprentices had gathered, watching. Ja'on’s voice had a hard, dark edge, a growl causing it to vibrate, "MORE!"

Two levels up, above the atrium, Raskar still held herself, looking down over this, seeing that prowess, knowing the power of the mind in that muscle. She swallowed, dryly, as Bathar came up behind her. "It looks like you finally tried to entice him, Darth Raskar." She stiffened at the man's voice, but he just gave a soft 'tut-tut' before standing next to her. "You never saw the footage of him killing Mathick. Just the kick splitting the corpse." She felt a sidelong glance, her eyes on the black body stopping four blades at once, could hear that man's voice goading and, somehow, at the same time, teaching those acolytes better blade play. Bathar's voice took on a tone she had never heard, "I won't ask what. But do not make the mistake of trying to get out of what you owe him. As much as I'd love to see you helpless," his eyes back on the man in black, "I made the mistake of underestimating him once. Before you were on the Council." He held up his left hand, gnarled, deformed, looking like a withered bird's foot. "I was fortunate he hadn't found the full power of his grief then."

On the floor, Ja'on finally felt that spark, seeing the acolytes listening, and for that instant, it mattered. He sprang to the offensive now, a vicious blur, his blade coming in hard on each acolyte, and in seven seconds had landed a killing "blow" on each of the twelve, thumb deactivating the power the instant before contact, then back on. All now sported bruises where they had been hit, before Ja'on tossed Jean the blade, and left, heading back through the red desert, leaving the planet for the docking station, and then boarding his ship.

He set coordinates for a dead-zone in space, and had spent six months here. He had nothing to break his melancholy. No mission, no conversations, nothing but sleep, cooking, and his own thoughts. In that shower, head down, steam filling the room, his voice harsh, "Mira. I miss you. So much." He finished, drying off, before taking his clippers. In spite of the despondent mood, he knew he had to do something, or soon he would begin to waste away. So, he cleaned up his facial hair, then went to his wardrobe. Slowly, he donned his armor, then went to the holoprojector, sending out a communication. A few seconds later, Keeper of Imperial Intelligence was a translucent image in front of him. "Lord Junath, a pleasure as always." The Sith nodded, voice rough, but still articulate, "Keeper. I have no current business for the Council, and desire to do...well anything. Do you have any missions that you were going to present to the Council?" The man on the other side smiled and nodded, "I do, actually M'Lord. Taris. We have information stating that there is a, and I do so hate this term, but a "Mad Scientist" there. He is studying the Rakghoul virus, trying to further weaponize it. While this could be...interesting, the Admiralty and my contacts for the Council all agree that the risk outweighs any benefit. The men we've sent, both military and intelligence, have died. Would you be willing?" A nod, and then a beep as the information was sent. "Many thanks, M'Lord." The projector turned off at this point, and Ja'on moved to the bridge, R7 bringing the systems fully online. "I hate this swamp," Ja'on mused out loud, to a sympathetic whistle from the computer.

As all the systems came online, Ja'on let his mind wander. He did miss contact, certainly. It had been years since he had touched anyone except in purely professional terms. Healing or dueling, or killing as the moment called for. But, he did hold Mira, for two bittersweet minutes. Their kissing once that jedi had left them be intensified, for they had years of missed intimacy. It was only in their minds, but it was still passionate. The kisses, the caresses, the desire for more, but knowing time wouldn't allow, they just held each other, tightly, before she faded from him. His thoughts turned to the Jedi now.

When he first met her, her anger, her eyes glowing the stained red of those wallowing in the dark side. The fact her skin was pure showed she wasn't completely immersed, but those eyes. She held such anger for him, such contempt. As the engines thrummed to life finally, the controls responding. He had hoped that, upon feeling the force user, he could just talk. Collect his wife. But that ANGER at him. At first, it was confusing, since he felt the righteous rage at the dead troops. And she was skilled....enough. Fast. Agile. She knew her forms, but beyond, saw how they worked. Was able to adapt and flow. But, then, he probably had years of experience on her.

The astro navigation display brought up the galaxy, R7 inputting and calculating the jump...no jumps that would be needed to reach Taris. "Such raw anger in her," he murmured, as the course was plotted, then the controls in his hands, the ship turning smoothly, thrusters accelerating, until he had the proper course. The last lever, he felt the pull, saw the bend, as everything seemed to stretch, before the last lurch, and the tunnel of light surrounded him. Breaking her saber didn't stop her. That bolt of lightning was impressive, though to him little more than a light show. But beyond that...her scream. That pull of pure, vile, loathing hatred. She wanted to hate him, so much, but he took every chance away from her.

Then, in the main room, with Mira. Realizing their position, learning the truth. His anger had nearly killed her, if not for his love’s interference. But after she had left him, as he approached the Twi'lek, he had one moment of her mind, one instant thought. A sense of familiarity. Then he was gone. Balmorra. He met the trooper in the hills. That poor boy...so like Dust. Or at least what Ja'on thought Dust would grow up to be like. And in that moment, he was right. The boy had honor. Morals. The ability to look past the US vs THEM of the war. He had told the soldier he was there for the imperial colonists, which was a half-truth. His mission, he was sent to find, and if possible retrieve Jykar. He had broken communications with Raskar and the Council, the last transmission something about being so close. If Jykar was not salvageable, then kill him. But upon landing, and learning of the attacks, his official mission no longer mattered. He needed to find those people. It was no surprise, but still a pleasant coincidence that both missions ended up being the same.

He had felt the hate from the adults from the Republic colonies towards the children. Had he let Darreck collect the republic citizens before taking the children, Ja'on knew what would happen. The three with sensitivity would go to Korriban, to die. The rest, sent to the orphanages. Meaning they would be conscripted to the military, or used in medical research. None of the children deserved that, but he also knew the adults would never take the children without a powerful catalyst. He was willing to do that. Be that monster. When he came to from the Sergeant's attack, and he was thankful the man realized the plan, he could feel the residual emotions, knowing his deception had worked. Too well. Pimm had come for him, and he felt her conflict. To attack or not. He didn't know what she would do, if she had looked through his datapad. He knew nothing except she was there, and she was...resolved. That made her dangerous.

But, she was not there to, as she put it, end him. Ja'on walked through his ship to the small kitchen near the passenger area, making himself a small bite to eat. When she realized what he had done, and why, she warmed to him. And, most perplexing, the hurt she felt to being called Jedi. It would be no different than if she had called him Sith, and yet, pain. Then, she had opened up to him. She had been a slave. Had read his datapad. Used it as evidence. Those last two he had assumed would happen, but her open admission to it. He shook his head as he bit into his eggs. "I want you to know me." A soft chuckle and another bite, his appetite actually coming awake for the first time since leaving Korriban six months ago.

And then, asking about Genna. The brunette had drunkenly come to him the last night before he started forward missions for the council again, begging to be with him. Not unexpected, nor an idea he hadn't played with. She had always had a pleasant aroma, like lilies. A soft smile. And by that point, it had been years without contact. But he couldn't take her, the thought felt like betraying Mira, and in spite of the attraction, she just didn't.....he shook his head. He was ready to end Pimm for asking about the medic, if he had killed her. She could see him in her dreams. But, only the two. "Oh yeah, and a fantasy," he laughed.

But then, as he finished his food, he thought about holding her neck. She was afraid of dying, but not of him. She didn't want him to let go, but being a former slave explained that. She craved, in her deepest heart, to have that hand control her. Who knew how many years she had suffered. Had he pressed it, though, she would not react well, and she had known that. Which was right, and good. The thought of putting a collar on her, of binding her, of keeping her in his hold had crossed his mind, but that passed nearly instantly in disgust. She was a warrior! Proud and honorable! And then, that cybernetic arm. He hadn't told her. It wasn't a laser.

It had been a disruptor beam. Most creatures hit by a full charge tended to disintegrate over simply...die. He had pulled her, trying to get her out of the line of fire. The only reason he hadn't used his lightsaber to deflect, was the frequency and intensity of the beam reacted differently than lasers. But, even he had reacted too slowly, though he did manage to reduce the energy with an impromptu shield. The beam had, indeed, severed her spine. But it continued, had perforated her left lung and heart. The only reason that beam didn't pass through her chest, was his shield. He had to remove her robes to assess the damage, her body not responding to her mind. He remembered all he had learned, those ancient and near-destroyed holocrons he learned from teaching him more than just the Sith Code, but history, ideologies, and more of the truth than either side ever seemed to know. He guided her, calming her, making her focus. While she did that, he worked to fix the damage. Twelve hours of repeating the jedi code, of slowly knitting her tissue back together, lung, muscle, heart, veins, nerves, bone. The absolute worst was her spine, but he managed.

A whistle, "Coming R7." He went back up to the bridge, resting in the chair as he brought the shuttle out of hyperspace, then adjusted the route and course for the second jump. This one would finish at Taris, but in sixteen hours. It had been dark, cold, and he was exhausted, her falling asleep sometime during the process, but far enough in she was breathing normally. He rested against the wall behind him, looking at her body, all but nude. Realizing how uncomfortable she would be, he moved, scooping her up. She had let off a mewling sound as he pulled her against his body, hands moving to his robes, grabbing tight, and pulling closer. In her sleep, she murmured "master," but her tone was anything but pleasant. Resting against the wall again, his hand came to her head. A glimpse, just an image, of her old master, his only closeness to her drawing equal revulsion and excitement from her, long enough under him to respond positively, though she hated it. He felt a spike of anger, a soft spot for her now, and retouched the memory, and softly pushed it away from her dreaming thoughts. She relaxed in his lap now, and he set her. Her warmth, her trust...he wanted that. There were none among the sith he could approach, to open up to. Those that knew his pain mocked him for it, and she tried to comfort him.

He moved her then, ensured she wouldn’t be against him. He had curled his legs to be a sort-of nest, her against his chest, and had finally fallen asleep. He would most likely never see her again, but for that night, and the next day, she did trust him. Appreciated his efforts. And that...especially compared to their first meeting....that was a moment worth saving. He left the bridge, moving back to the cargo hold. No speeder bikes, instead supplies. Food, water. And a training drone. He launched it, drawing and activating his saber, and set the drone's training to the highest it could go. He had tinkered with it, the programing it had never enough. But, if he had pushed it further, it would blow out its power supply, the flurry of shots at him almost looking like a single beam as it flew through the area, his saber a blur as he deflected. And in spite of the training, his mind and needs betrayed him.

Raskar had offered him a night, as a gift. Adamant that it would be without strings. And that thought, her capabilities, it would be an amazing night. But she had come at him with sweetness while already trying to poison his thoughts. He was not going to take her up on the offer, in spite of the pleasure it would mean, for two reasons. One the risk, and two, her personality made him retch. Then, there was Genna. Always pleasant. In the years she took care of Mira, she never saw Him in that way, but after her death, especially with his pain, she did start having the fantasies of him as well. By the night of the party, those dreams were of her healing him, of him forgiving her fully. Her guilt and grief at his loss was....heartwarming and painful all at once. But they had started originally with his hand on her neck, then taking her. The night of the party, she begged, just one night. It was the first night in years he hadn't slept in a bed alone. But he couldn't. When she tried to relieve her needs, he woke up. The two thoughts he had were _"I'm tired. Really?"_ as well as the subtle desire to forgive her, knowing how deeply she blamed herself. So, he used his hand, but beyond showing her he didn't hate her and want to murder her, it had meant nothing.

The drone finished the routine, as his saber deactivated. Then there was the Jedi. The tiny urges of her days as a slave. Her body dancing during their duel. The curves he saw and felt against him. Independent. Fiercesome. Passionate. But in spite of that, a desire to be Jedi. To honor her Master. He couldn't get her out of his mind for the moment. On her knees, quivering, gasping softly, yielding, opening up to him, trusting him. "Traitor," he growled softly, hand coming to his groin and adjusting himself. She was one he could see taking to his bed. In so many, different capacities. But more than even that, in spite of his WANT of her, he wanted her to continue to trust him.

He finally left the cargo bay, feeling strange. He was, of all things, hungry again. He went back to the kitchen, this time making himself some more eggs, toasted bread, then shredded and fried some roots. Oil, butter, an egg into the mix as well. Soon, he had a plate all but overflowing with food, and stood there, eating. Soon it was empty, and clean, and he couldn't help but feel hungry still. He suddenly realized, that over the six months in space, he hadn't resupplied once. He normally only kept a week, two at the most, of food. Two weeks of food lasting six months, he hadn't been eating almost anything, his grief sustaining him. But now, actually processing his thoughts, finding those moments, those instances that matter, he was getting through that despondence and came more to his normal self.

"R7, wake me in 10 hours." A rapid beeping and whistles, drawing a laugh. "No. I'm not going to sleep myself into a coma. I actually feel decent for the first time in months. But I'm still tired." He washed the dishes, then went into the bedchamber, stripping again, and sliding onto the bed. His mind kept him awake a few minutes, body relaxing, before drifting off, mind not falling into the blackness of the eventual end. Instead, it was gentle, relaxing, mind flying through the thoughts and emotions, dumping all the information that he hadn't been able to without a proper sleep cycle.

Deep in the middle of his dreams, he was in a deep forest, trees taller than sight could see, walking. He felt the movement, a flicker of red, turning towards it, a soft sway of her hips, hands behind her back, lek'ku back, brands visible, lip falling between her teeth. She snarled, though, charging him, a full sprint, before leaping at him, fists high, as he fell back, then thrusting his hand forward, his own blow catching her in the stomach. She flew back, as he launched to her. The two danced, punches, kicks, neither holding the advantage. Both panting, equals, still in pose, her robes having fallen to shreds, only keeping her descent, his own gone completely, only a pair of shorts remaining.

They clashed again, punches and kicks turning into holds, grips and throws. His hands on her stomach, hers against his chest. A grip here. A grope. A moan from him as her thigh ran against him. A breathy gasp from her as he pinned her against a tree.

The wrestling grew frantic, faster, and neither could ever get over the other. They ended, his arms holding her against him, her legs wrapped around his floating ribs. For a long moment in the dream, they locked gazes, before a deep kiss. She pulled away, her robes no longer there, instead a mesh-net bodysuit, kneeling before him, he tall over her. Her eyes cast down, before he scooped her up, she felt his thickness against her body from the proximity, all but dragging her against it. Her voice, a soft mewl, need and desire, passion and adoration only in her noise, "Master!" Another kiss, her surrendering against him, lifting her legs out of his arm, getting her thighs around his waist, and lowered herself to him, sinking him into her, a dark, hungry growl into her mouth, pulling her back, locking gazes as he filled her. His eyes showing the need, the craving, the passion, until he was buried in her.

She rode him, before he pinned her against a tree, thrusting. They were in the sands of Tatooine, a blanket keeping the sand off them as the moisturizers sprayed them with water. He cradled and held her close as she squeezed him tightly, keeping each other warm on the ice caps of Hoth. She on her knees, taking him down her throat, as a dozen tall chairs with seven horrible people watched with interest. She on a table, his face between her thighs, her voice a rapid series of gasps and moans as a group of serene-looking people watched with appreciation. Her pinned against a glass pane, looking out into the galactic core as he filled her. Him on a bed as her hand moved rapidly, pumping him. More. Faster. The cries of pleasure. The moans of need. Finally, eyes locked, sinking onto him one more time, "Fill me Ja'on. Make me yours Master." The release, the pressure flooding, before a gentle blackness took him again.

An alarm went off, and he woke, breathing heavily as he stretched, and looked at his sheets. Shaking his head, he used the top sheet to clean himself off, looking at himself, a grin, "Traitor. I mean that this time," he chuckled, standing and making sure he hadn't missed any. He bundled all of his sheets together, walking to the washing system, before moving back to the room, and into the fresher. He took another shower, drying off, and looking at himself in the mirror. He was startled, but not surprised, by the blue eyes looking back at him. He donned his armor, went to the bridge, and dropped out of hyperspace, Taris zooming to meet him.

As the ship came out of hyperspace, Ja'on looked over the planet. Destroyed in the days of Revan, after the Mandalorian wars, it was a wreck. The super-city infrastructure decimated, nature overgrowing and choking out the ruins, wild beasts running free, and the Rakghouls. This was always a point of contention for many. It was a virus, infection transferred by bio-matter exposure, or in other words, by being bitten. The virus was, in a carrier state, harmless. No fevers, no incapacitation of the new host. But once it infected enough of the body, it triggered a horrifying and violent mutation, turning the host into another of the beasts.

Both the Republic and the Empire had vested interest in the planet. The former trying to rebuild, to fight back the rakghouls, to reclaim the planet for its people, to colonize, to spread. The Empire, on the other hand, was far less altruistic. They mostly worked to sabotage the Republic efforts, seeing it in ruins as a testament to their power. While the Empire's efforts were effective, there was more and more safe places for the republic citizens. Ja'on flipped a few controls, the stealth technology of his ship activating. An inquisitive beep, "Because, R7, I want to be able to land and leave. Too many republic ships in the area." He maneuvered his ship around the republic traffic, before sweeping the planet for the imperial landing beacon.

Once found, he deactivated the cloak, doubling the shields, and broke atmosphere, coming in hard and fast. Soon, the small landing port came into view, as he reduced his thrust. The control tower came over his comm, the authority sounding tight, nervous, "Identify yourself, ship." Ja'on activated both his IFF to transmit his status as Imperial, and the holoprojector, "This is Lord Junath. I am here to carry out a mission." He then transmitted the authorization code that came with the mission data, before Port Authority nodded, "Of course, M'Lord. Docking bay seventeen is yours." The feed cut, as Ja'on's eyes narrowed. This....felt wrong. He brought himself in low, activating the landing sequence, his ship touching down in the port.

He ensured he was prepared, his armor secured. The Phrick blade was in its retractable bracer, tucked inside his sleeve. He looked at the last weapon in his case, even as he hung the saber on his belt. Taking it, he looked at the blaster for a long moment, before tucking it into a holster on his boot. It was honestly little more than a hold-out blaster, with a power cell only capable of shooting twelve times before being drained, and a short range. Most would laugh at a Sith using a blaster, but those that had, normally had ended up with a blaster hole in their body. He finally disembarked the ship, exiting the landing port into the station proper.

It felt, even more than during landing, wrong. The guards were tense, nervous, jumpy. The others in the military were rushed. As he walked through, he noticed the medical supplies were low. In fact, so were the numbers. As he approached the exit from the station, the man he spoke to caught up, "M'Lord!" Ja'on stopped, turning to face to soldier. The other man approached, speaking in whispers, "My Lord, I know, a little, of your mission. I've seen that authority multiple times over the past two months." He swallowed, Ja'on silent, letting the man continue. "I just know that every one who had that authority, has died. And..." he shook his head, "My Lord, I've seen them back. Part of the forces attacking us." Ja'on's eyes narrowed, voice also low, "What are you saying, commander." The military man looked at the Sith, paling, "I'm saying corpses still in uniform, My Lord, moving and attacking."

The Sith held the man in his masked gaze for a long, hard minute. When the other didn't break and look away, or retract his statement, Ja'on nodded. "I see. I was under the impression I was hunting Rakghouls." The commander nodded, "I would not be surprised, My Lord. They acted similarly to those monsters. But, they were most certainly not, but were men and women. Still in uniform, using their weapons." Ja'on nodded again, "I see. Do you have any other information?" The commander held up a datapad, "Just enough reconnaissance information of them leaving the compound, and the various stops each made, My Lord. I was not prying, mind you, but each stop I have was standard documentation." The man started speaking fast, nervous now, because Intelligence missions were so far above his authority, that if any thought he had been prying and data collecting, execution would be a favorable outcome for him.

Ja'on nodded, taking the datapad, and pulling out his own, transferring the data. "I understand commander." He handed it back, then after a moment as the commander didn't say anything else, turned on heel and stepped out of the port. The compound itself had some basic things for those coming to or leaving the planet, but again, Ja'on felt off. While the idea of reanimated corpses was, in a word, ridiculous, there was certainly something happening in the Sith controlled areas of the planet. Forgoing a speeder, he stalked into the swamp and jungle of the planet, moving in the same direction as those before him.

Two nights later, his third day planetside, he was, in a word, not happy. The swamp stank, the rakghouls were everywhere, the other wildlife harassing, the ruins made just walking without the other factors troublesome. He found a few buildings whole enough to actually move through, the occasional pirate crew, but no signs of the scientist, or those corpses he had been told about. He continued to refer to his datapad, and the topographical map, along with the check in points of the others. Analyzing it, he found the common point all were headed for, that was his goal now. Some he had seen had taken swoops or other speeders, others walked, but all had made arcing paths. He went straight up the middle of those, hoping to find what had befallen them by doing so.

During his third night, Ja'on had found a small building, still surprisingly whole and safe, and was camped inside it. A small fire had been lit, and he was grilling nexu shank on it when he heard the noise. It was a stumbling movement, much like a person. Standing, he waved, extinguishing the flames. The building had no windows, and just one well hidden doorway, so he knew he was safe from being seen, but that wrong feeling hit him again with the noise. He drew his saber, the black night aiding him in staying hidden, as he moved to the door, and looked out. Taris's moon was nowhere to be seen in the sky, so there was not much light, but he wasn't looking with his eyes, instead reaching with the Force.

He felt the things moving. They were bipedal, humanoid, and wearing clothing. However, the energy from them wasn't right, neither human nor near-human. It felt...sick. Stronger. He felt for their minds. There were images of violence, blood thirsty desires, but further under that, flashes of the port, of imperial insignia. "Looks like the commander was right," he whispered, and then moved into the open. Compared to the shambling movements through the underbrush, he was a wraith, silent. He was upon the mass, fifteen creatures, before he ignited his saber, cutting three down in one swipe. The others turned, banding together, snarls and growls issuing from their throats.

The silver light from the lightsaber illuminated the area, a little, the things looking at him, the light reflecting in their eyes. Reanimated corpses was an exaggeration, he realized. Injured, yes. But their hearts pumped, lungs taking and pushing air, stomachs digested. But they were still...wrong. They opened fire on him, and he moved, deflecting the blasts deftly. The shots reflected back at the things smashed into their heads, chests, and only lightly scorched them. This was all noted as he moved in closer, using the force to grab one, throwing him sideways into others, before being close enough to start cutting through.

Though they seemed resistant to the blasters, his blade cut them down as easily as anything else. After a minute, he was in the field, alone, their bodies all stopped. The idea behind a reanimated corpse, even to the Sith, was frightening, and they had looked the part. But they were still living things, not the risen dead. He collected a blood sample from one of the bodies, and moved back to the hut, entering it and covering the doorway again, before relighting his fire, and finished cooking his meal. As that was happening, he pulled out the datapad, and took a few observational notes.

The next morning, he moved back to the field, and saw the bodies in the light of the sun. Humans, imperial uniforms, though their bodies were, in the direct light, malformed. Bulging muscles, too-long fingers, their spines had been protruding the skin a bit, and each had a sickly grey or red tinge to their skin. He heard a howl, and turned as he saw a pack of rakghouls charging him, and the connection snapped into place. Saber lit, he leapt to meet the forty monsters, cutting down two as he landed, the impact with the ground generating a Force-powered shockwave, blowing away the creatures. He fell into a highly defensive Soresu form then, dodging, deflecting, and ensuring none of the infectious beasts could reach him. It took time, but he finished the last, and deactivated his saber. He thought he felt a small pulse, a disturbance in the force, but it was too far away, and in the wrong direction, to investigate.

He then started piecing the area together. The sort-of-but-not-quite-humans had come from the same direction that the pack had come from. He started stalking through the swamp again, following the path of both groups back. Around mid-day, he paused, and felt another pulse. This was much much closer, and instead of just a ping, was a ripping sensation, something twisting, dying but not. A horrifying thought to most, though Ja'on had experience many horrifying things. He felt with the Force, realizing that the paths of both groups had started IN this zone, and did not continue beyond. Since he was lacking the advanced sensor suite of the troopers, he just felt for the hidden door. And it was....there. This was not just a camouflaged, hidden to look like a wall, but in addition was reinforced, and very thick. He focused, concentrating, gripping the metal, and started to move it. Even for him, it took time, realizing it was a fallout shelter type door. Heavily reinforced. The building built into the ground, all strengthened. It could likely take an orbital bombardment directly, and still be safe.

He focused inward, feeling through the peace of the Force, and letting his anger at what had happened to those men, to those children on Balmorra, to Mira...to Pimm...to spike his power, and with an unearthly scream, ripped the entire door, frame, and locking mechanisms from the bunker entirely, throwing it all to the side. Panting, he felt that other pulse, again from far away and behind him. Saber in hand, he moved into the bunker now, at the ready.

Ja'on descended into the bunker, his breath actually shuddering at the sensation he felt. He had, in his life, walked into Nexu dens, faced down a Gundark without weapons or armor, faced off against eight-hundred troopers, and literally beat his old Master to death, but the sensation he felt gave him shivers. This did not slow him, of course, moving into the simplistic layout of the bunker, and froze, looking around.

There was an elevated room, windowed, looking out over the main chamber. Ja'on's walkway was halfway up the height of the chamber. On the floor, there were not a handful, nor dozens, or even hundreds. The reason Ja'on felt the hitch, momentary as it was, was the few thousand rakghouls. Seeing that writhing mass of creatures was actually less disturbing to the man, but then he had actually SEEN the walking dead before. Force spirits possessing the dead. This...was just a large number. He walked along the walkway, as a door opened on the floor, more of the creatures pouring into the mass.

Half way from where he entered the walkway, which had been central to the bunker, he found a wall down on the floor, and beyond it was more creatures. But these were not the rakghouls, but the odd humans. There were still two or three hundred of those. He realized the wall, as he stood over it, was able to be moved, and he recognized a platforming ramp that could raise to the walkway.

A thin, reedy voice came over a static filled PA system. "Ah! A visitor! Please, excuse my manners, I am Jared Kathos." Ja'on looked to the windows, and saw the silhouette of a man. "I've been researching the Rakghoul virus, wouldn't you know? Did you? Please, feel free to speak. I do have microphones over there." Ja'on smirked under his mask, but did respond. "I had heard, good Doctor, but did not know your name before now. You had played a game of anonymity very well." The scientist laughed, it turning into a coughing fit. "So polite! So, my robed friend, I know that one of my squads of new ghouls was cut down, as well as a whole pack of the classics, all heading towards the imperial outpost. Was that your doing?" A nod from the Sith, "It was."

Instead of anger or rage, he saw the man lean forward, "Oh? And how did you find them?" Academic curiosity filled his voice. Ja'on stepped back, leaning against the wall. "Do excuse the blunt behavior, Doctor Kathos, but you did ask. The new ones, the mostly human? They had most of the resistance to blasters that the classics, as you called them, but little else going for them. The biggest advantage we have over those creatures is our intelligence. The virus, in spite of your alterations to not have them mutate fully, still destroyed their minds. Much like the more grotesque versions, their thoughts are nothing but hunger and ripping, with just the most basic glimpses of their previous lives. All that does, is give them a target. I presume some of these came from the republic as well?"

Jared's voice took an amused tone. "To speak so glibly of their minds, as though you could see them!" His laughter echoed, driving the monsters below into a frenzy. Ja'ons voice was still loud enough to carry past that, though, "Well, yes. I touched them before I picked them up and threw them around, and finally cut them down. Blasters were almost worthless, but a lightsaber cuts Rakghoul flesh as easily as others." The voice over the PA now cut the mirth, a cold edge in it. "A Sith? That explains much, actually. Do you think to come and take my research? Bring me to your council?"

Ja'on shook his head. "No. I'm going to kill those creatures, and destroy your research." The two stared at each others shadows for a minute, "I do believe you, Sith. I even believe you are doing it for the same reasons a Jedi would. However, I simply cannot let you. I'd rather not see my project slowed, so if you leave, I will just let you be." It was Ja'on's turn to laugh, "I can imagine, Doctor, but you are right. My reasons are because it is right, and you are dangerous. I can't simply leave you be." Two, three seconds, then "I have wondered, how long a Force User could slow or prevent the virus." Ja'on heard a buzz, and the floor under him just dropped, throwing him to the floor a good thirty feet below, a small cubicle within the wall keeping him safe. Then, the wall opened to his right, the "classics" having access to him.

His saber snapped to life, and he charged. He could hardly see the individual creatures for the sheer number of them. He pushed himself, cutting them down one after another, two or three at a time. Grabbing them by their necks with the force and throwing them into more. "Interesting," over the speaker, as he heard a frequency, the monsters being driven into a rage-induced fury. They began to swarm him, though he simply continued the offense, swearing to himself to not die here. He heard a metal grinding on metal, and realized that the wall behind him had not just moved, but sunk into the floor. The humanoids and the normal rakghouls did not attack each other, but all turned on him.

Throw, leap and strike, block, defend, deflect a blaster, kick, cut. He screamed at some, the sheer power of the Force knocking them back, then back to the swinging. Then, he was grabbed, too-dull teeth trying to bite through his boot, and a downward stab ended that, but then a mass smashed into his chest. He grabbed it by the neck, throwing it hard, smashing into the window, dead before it hit the floor. Then back to the dance, anger growing, realizing the pain and terror the humanoid rakghouls had felt. How many people had been intentionally infected by him. He felt that spike, that power, his body crackling with excess energy.

Finally, in spite of his skill and power, he felt fatigue. He had been grieving too long, not had enough time to restore his strength. Then that weakness drew extra anger. He was better than that! Better than this! The saber sped up, deflecting more, meeting the enemies sooner, before he was bodily checked by two at the same time, staggering him, then he screamed as the silver light vanished, the clink of metal as his saber hilt hit the ground, time slowing for him, looking down at the rakghoul which had caught him, teeth tearing through armor, blood flowing down his right arm, and in that single moment, he felt the infection take hold in his body.

Another attack, his mask slashed, metal tearing, pieces falling off his head, no longer hiding his snarl of anger. His left hand came down on the head of the ghoul biting him, before that crackling he felt finally exploded, his body literally glowing with the arcs of electricity crawling over him, the head exploding on impact of his fist. He glared up at the window, before his body burst into a blur of movement. No longer cutting, he dived into the primal fury of the hate, diving beyond words and thoughts, into pure, unbridled, unfocused rage. There was nothing left of thought now, beyond the same those around him had, death. His fists drew arcs of lightning from the ground into his knuckles, impacting and throwing those creatures around. Grabbing with his hands and throwing them behind. He saw those humanoids, left hand thrust out, a fan of pure power flowing over and destroying tissue.

After ten minutes, the only living thing on that floor was the still electrified Ja'on, who stalked to the doors to the scientist. "A....truly impressive show, Ser Sith. But, even though I know you were able to rip the exterior door off the building, you will never make it...through......" he trailed off as that power condensed and became a solid beam, blindingly bright, smashing into the double doors, which under short order began to glow red hot, then melt away fully. He stepped through, seeing guarding droids, attack models turn to him. One had a beam of lightning melt its core, before he was on the second, grabbed and thrown into a wall to explode. The third and fourth were each punched straight through.

He came to the elevator up, blew the doors clean off the wall, then stepped to the edge of the elevator, and launched a beam of lightning up, severing the ancient cable that ran the device, letting it plummet to the bottom of the shaft. He leapt to the opposite wall of the shaft, and used it to launch himself up to the doctor's level, and blew those doors open before landing softly. The doctor, a togruta, faced him, trembling, old and feeble. As Ja'on approached, he fell back, "No...no need to be hasty!" Just as the Sith was about to grab him, the man swung his arm up, a scalpel in his hand caught his face, slashing him from cheek to forehead, on the inside of his left eye, up the side of his nose. The togruta pulled back and thrust for a stab at the Sith's neck, but this was grabbed by the large man's left hand, and twisted, throwing the scientist against the wall. There, he laughed.

"You are truly a wonderful creature, Sith. Powerful, strong, will power. The works. And to think, that's what it takes to kill me. Your power, that wonderful saber. I look forward to it, how creative will you be." Ja'on looked at him, then pulled, the blaster coming from his boot, in his hand, pointed at the scientist's head, drawing a frown, "No. NO! I deserve better!" The crack of the blaster, the corpse of the doctor slumping, the clean hole through his head. "You didn't even deserve a one liner." Ja'on then holstered his blaster, and jumped down the shaft, kicking off the wall at the lower door. As he walked through the floor, he collected his saber, growling in pain at his arm, and jumped to the walkway, stepping out into the sun.

As he stood there, he looked to the sun, then to the path he had taken here. He didn't move at first, then did, slowly. He was not biologist, that was all Genna's department. But he had read up on the virus. Incubation was normally between six hours, and four days. He could feel it spreading, already in his blood, soaking into him, cell by cell. He brought out his short range communicator, keying it, "R7." A series of beeps, "Access and link the galactic projector." A whistle beepbeep. "Thank you. Activate protocol L6, keyword Omega Lambda Lambda. Secure comm to Keeper." It took longer from the remote access, but his handheld flickered, and Keeper showed up. "Lord Junath?"

The man nodded, wincing as his muscles spasmed, before talking, "It's done Keeper. Togruta scientist, old, Jared Kathos, male. Mutated the virus to not have as significant of an effect on the body, but still destroyed the mind. Left them humanoid, tinted skin, extra muscle mass, retained enough mental facilities to use weapons." He sniffed as Keeper watched him, "He is dead. Data destroyed." Keeper nodded, "Very good Lord Junath. Shall I....inform the council?" Neither man made eye contact, "If I do not make contact in seven days, yes." Keeper nodded, after a swallow, "Understood." The comm died, and Ja'on started the trek.

He made it to the building he had used the night before, when he felt that small pulse in the force again, much much closer. He turned to face it, breathing a little heavily, before a shimmer faded, and the familiar black on red appeared before him, smiling, Ja'on held his right arm behind him. "Pimm," he said, feeling her smile a little brighter on the inside at the name. She came up to him, though he took a step back, a wash of confusion from her. "Ja'on, yes. It's me. You're injured." He reached up, touching his face, "Oh." His indifference at the wound drew a wash of concern, coming closer to him, with him responding by stepping back again.

"Ja'on, why are you backing away? There's no one here but us. I mean, you're not my enemy, right?" Her right hand fell to her belt, hand on her saber as she asked, her fear bubbling to the front of her mind, but he shook his head. "No," a wash of relief, "But you need to leave here Pimm. Now." She looked around, and he could feel her probing, sensing if there were enemies, before looking at him again, nose scrunching as she seemed to notice something. "Ja'on....." He sighed, and shifted, letting her see his arm. "Rakghoul. I'm infected. I don't know how long it'll take. So, go Pimm." She shook her head, lek'ku shaking, twitching, his eyes trying to follow, "No. NO!" She came up to him now, frantic. "You...we can fix this! There's a vaccine! I know of a few places that have it, we can get you there!" As she was in arm's reach, he put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her from getting too close. "No, Pimm, I deserve to die," but she cut him off, "NO! No you do not! We'll fix you, get you better! I'll tell them you're a refugee, that you're a Jedi, ANYTHING and we'll get you better." He sighed, shaking his head, knowing she didn't understand.

"No. Pimm. Don't. You need to go, go home. Take care of yourself. I DO deserve this," again, she shook her head, punching him in the chest, though it didn't have any real force behind it, "NO! I am not going to leave you here! I will get you help." He watched her, then brought his hand up, cradling her face and cheek, fingertips below the lek'ku, her own hand coming up to it before he pushed with his mind. She hadn't been expecting the touch in her mind, so focused on trying to help him he was able to connect directly. "Pimm. Leave me. Now. You don't need to see this." Anger came to her face as his hand dropped, and she fought the command with every fiber of her being, one step back, then a second. "How...dare....you..." she got out through clenched teeth. "I want to help you! I WANT TO SAVE YOU!" Her will was all that kept her from turning and running, backing away slowly instead. He nodded, "I know that Pimm. And...I'm touched." He gave her a sad smile, "I just want to spare you that pain." Her will began to crumble, body refusing to listen now, turning. When she turned away fully, and began to run, pushing herself, speeding her own legs beyond normal, he finally turned his back on her, and entered his little shack.

It was nine hours later, the sun below the horizon, when he felt the door moving, his eyes blurry as he woke up. He felt the presence, blinking and trying to clear the pain now in his chest and head, before he saw that shimmer. Another blink, his left hand coming up to try and touch or push that blurry spot, before a wave of force smashed into him, pinning him to the wall. That blur moved in, fast, the pin fading. He tried to dodge, but strong thighs caught him around his chest, his right arm was not responding at all, his left coming up to struggle with his assailant. This got pulled across his chest, then their body pinned it there, before the sharp sting in his neck, the hiss of an autoinjector, and that blur became solid. He grew angry at the attack, at the drugging, and his power surged, him moving to a stand instantly, left arm throwing his attacker off. They hit the opposite wall, feet first after a flip in the air, and landed safely on the ground. Electricity began to arc over his body again, "How...DARE YOU!" he screamed as he saw the female figure's outline, his mind touching hers, sensing the fear, the desire to run, but that all kept at bay by the desire to help him. Pimm's voice trembled, just a bit, "Because you didn't tell me to stay away."

He sighed, heavily, the electricity fading, and he took a step towards her, before another wave of force slammed into him, holding him against the back wall. She was afraid, of him now, weakening her hold, though her resolve to help him kept it steady. "It's just a hit of the rakghoul vaccine," she said. "I told you, we had some. I knew where there were stores." He pushed, softly, but found he couldn't move his body by muscle alone. "Pimm, will you," he started, but was cut off with, "No. You aren't leaving. I'm making sure you are fine." He looked at her shadow, before focusing his power, his left arm coming up, feeling her tremble at trying to counter him, ready to force all of her power on his wrist if she needed to, when he got his arm up, level with her. Instead of an attack, however, he opened his palm, aimed up, "I'm not going to attack, Pimm. Let me go." She moved, a glimmer of hope weakening the fear, but strengthening her resolve, the grip tightening, his arm being pushed down a bit. "Please."

The one word did what the rest had failed, her own ability to hold him fading, and he felt the release. She was ready to be attacked, to be sent away, but hoped he would do neither. He knelt before the fire pit, putting a couple of logs he had left in the circle, with fresh kindling and tinder, then ignited it, the fire catching. He leaned back against his wall, feeling exhausted. "Pimm. I could kiss you for this, but also am ready to kick you out for doing it." She stood, and he felt her heart race just a bit. "But, this is important. I....If the vaccine doesn't work, if I turn....I need you to end me." She shook her head, arms crossing under her chest, looking away, "No. It's going to. And if it doesn't, I can take you to the republic. We can heal you." He shook his head, "Pimm, please. If I turn, it's already too late. And I'm asking you, as a fellow warrior, to end it. I deserve death." She looked at him, face ugly with pain, walking over to him with determined steps, trembling. "NO YOU DON'T! You are not a monster! You have honor! You CAN'T JUST GIVE UP!" He sighed, shaking his head, "You're not listening Pimm."

A huff came out of Pimm's mouth, complete with a little foot stomp at his soft admonishment. In spite of himself, he let out a soft chuckle, drawing a wrathful look, "I'm sorry Pimm." He slid down the wall, shuddering again at the pain wracking his body. "I am not laughing at your attempt to help. But, your attitude right now, it’s cute." She stayed that way a minute, then growled out softly, "So tell me. Tell me what I'm not listening to." He patted the ground next to himself, close to his knee, and she sat beside him, facing each other. He met her gaze, her anger melting away, eyes downcast for a second, before his hand came up. She instantly pulled back, wary of his touch, especially since the first time he had violated her mind, implanted that suggestion. She'd had similar things done in the past, as training, and she nearly always broke through, but he....his was so strong she couldn't stop until it had ended because she was far enough away. "I'm not going to do that again, Pimm."

Hesitant, she leaned back in, burying the other reason she didn't want to be touched under a jumble and chaos of random thoughts, as his fingertips grazed her cheek, over the nub, cupping her face tenderly. "Just....listen...." And the little shack faded from view. A six year old crawling from the burning wreckage of a shuttle, his nine year old brother dead. Parents cut down after hiding their twelve year old. Twenty year old colonist coming back to the village, burnt to the ground. Twenty five, shot multiple times by pirates, not a single lethal hit. Thirty, surviving the pirates to be drug to Korriban. Forty, finally graduating, becoming apprentice. During the non-Sith years, finding cubes, learning things, believing things. As a Sith, being just too strong. Mira's admonishment that it was his fault, and the desire to hold his son. Mira's capture, and regret of not being home. Holding her, in their minds, as she faded from existence. That...grief. Loss. Unlike when he invaded Raskar's mind, though, this wasn't to hurt Pimm. He was sharing with her. Showing her parts of his life, more of it than even his Master had known.

He pulled his hand away, and she blinked back tears. She now knew the love he felt for family, the respect for friends. And, she also knew he was almost as old as Master Shan, not that he looked it, drawing another look to his face. She tried to process what he showed her, and his words. Finally, he spoke, sensing that confusion. "I'm not saying I deserve to die, Pimm, because of bad things. I'm saying, that if it is my time, that the vaccine doesn't work, I deserve my peace too." She nodded, "I...see." But this drew a blink, "Those cubes?" He nodded, "Jedi Holocrons. Ancient. But I learned from them. I'm not giving up on living, but when it is my time." He trailed off, and she whispered, "There is no Death, there is only the Force."

The Sith on the ground nodded, smiling. Not chiding, not superior, but a little sense of pride was showing as he watched her understand. She caught the look, and looked away. He felt the flush of confusion from her, heart speeding up again, before a soft, "I understand. And...will." He rested his head back against the wall, shuddering as another pulse of pain hit him. "Thank you Pimm. I'm going to rest, because I am exhausted." He felt her move, a warmth against his side, then sweet nothingness claimed him.

In the morning, he woke, suddenly and heard a squeak as he sat up. Pimm had fallen asleep beside him apparently, and wrapped her arms around his during the night, and she was pulled awake as well. The two looked at each other, and couldn't help but laugh, a little. He nodded to a small cooler, and she saw an old, but running power generator hooked to it. "I have some Nexu meat in there, get it out, skewer it, and I'll start the fire." Pimm rose, stretching hard, bringing herself to the balls of her feet, then down, moving to the cooler. Ja'on threw another log in the fire pit, getting it started as she pulled out the the slabs of meat. He felt her apprehension at first, _"Will there be a whole carcass in there? Does he expect me to prepare or cut it up? I wonder which cuts of meat he prefers..."_ before she opened the door, seeing the shanks already cut and cleaned. She pulled out two, and ran the long skewer on the half-of-a-table through them, handing it to Ja'on, who started the cook.

While this was happening, he turned inward, examining himself. "Pimm, I think the vaccine is working. But that strain was especially vile, and it was already almost half a day before I got vaccinated." She looked at him, a defiant, "I helped!" thought in her mind, overshadowed by the concern for him. He had healed her spine, kept her alive, and she could only watch, and give him an honorable death if the medicine failed. He could sense that turning to a soft form of despair, and he spoke, "Don't. You did not fail me. You did more than anyone in the republic would have." A little huff, then she sat beside him, "How do you do that so well and easily?"

He looked to her, soft smile pulling on those lips. "I just do. You know me a little better. I have experience. I've been force sensitive since....childhood. I was in Hutt space, and space that is now imperial, but the empire wasn't there then. I wandered. Learned and trained myself. Other Force sensitives. The holocrons. Then, when I was already an adult," he took a small breath, and she finished, "You were taken through the Academy." A nod, the two falling quiet. "Your eyes are pretty." Pimm's thought exploded in a mess of chaos, looking at him hard, he heard the sharp breath, saw and felt the flush of her neck and face, though her skin did well to hide it. He looked at the fire and the cooking meat, "Purple. Very pretty. I'm glad to see you aren't wallowing in the Dark Side so badly as to stain them red anymore." He felt the confusion, the rush appreciation, the anger and frustration at the moment, she feeling lost to his articulation. He didn't press any of that, instead sliding to a topic he knew she understood.

"I know shadows have special leniencies when it comes to the Force, since your role in the war and defense of the republic comes with less clear-cut 'Don't do this' rules." She nodded, "So, seeing your eyes, I never judged you for it." A soft appreciation came at this, remembering how quickly she had judged him. "But, I know what throwing yourself into that darkness does to people." He looked at her, voice both serious, and mirthful, "It's NOT pretty." She started to giggle, when her mind flashed, his dream after Mira's death, Darth Bathar coming to him, that feeling of decay inside just by being near him. Her voice quiet, "How have you not...." and just waved her hands in circles.

He leaned back, looking up. "Neither side is right, Pimm. Sith or Jedi. But that's because both sides have said _'_ _This is the line in the sand. To cross it is wrong.'_  Of course, this is only my belief." He chuckled, softly, "But I believe it. So I never gave myself fully to the Sith ideas. Hold myself to my own morals and values." He took off his right gauntlet, looking at his tattoo, feeling her eyes drawn to it and a pang of curiousness and anger flash through her. "It let me find love, and have a family, whereas most only have tools." She nodded, wondering so many things. He had already pushed himself into her mind once and made her leave him, then again and shared more than words, but memories, with all the affection, pain, loneliness, joy, and everything between that came with. He didn't want to push into her too much, else he would definitely become an enemy. "Since I never give in to the negative emotions, my body doesn't corrupt like the others. When I do, however, and it does happen on occasion...." he shook his head, and it was her turn with the seriously mirthful tone, "You get ugly?" He laughed, "Well, ugli...er."

The two fell quiet, before eating the food. "You never healed your face," she said quietly as they waited for one fate or the other. She pulled out her kit, some basic medical supplies, and found a rag, wetting it. She came to him, and without a thought, had straddled his legs, arm resting on his chest and started cleaning his face. She sucked on her lips a bit upon seeing the gash. It was a scalpel wound, but the viciousness of the slash had made the cut jagged. It had sealed itself over the day as he slept, but was not going to heal right. "I've got it," he said, reaching up, and focused that serene energy upon himself, trailing his finger over the wound. Before her eyes, the gash sealed itself right, the wound clean, leaving a scar, but much less than if he had let it heal naturally. "Thank you again," he said, voice soft, warm smile on his lips, and she suddenly realized how very very close she was to him. She stood, moved away from over him, and started to sort her bag.

She paused, looking at the pad, then back at him. His eyes were closed again, another shudder across his body. She shook her head, closing it up, he felt her frustration, her desire to not tell him. Not now. An inward smile, he took a deep, slow breath, letting it out as she paced the small shack, before sitting again. His voice made her jump, just a bit, "Relax, Pimm. If you can't, I'm not going anywhere." His eyes opened, a thought crossing his mind, "How is Havoc Squad?" She blinked at him, "Wh...what do you mean?" He grinned, "Well, they tend to be around when you are." Her face scrunched up, then a laugh escaped her throat, "What do you think this is, a video game? Where everyone ends up at the same place at the same time?" He laughed at her response, shaking his head for an answer, "No, no I don't. But that would be amusing."

The two shared a silly grin and laugh at the thought, before calming. Ja'on spasmed again, hissing with pain, the virus and vaccine fighting for dominance in his body. Pimm's grin faded to a concerned scowl, "Isn't there anything you can do?" He shook his head, "Sadly no. I can heal and mend. I can purge toxins and drugs. But this? In spite of its abnormal state of being, it's too natural to simply purge. It's frustrating, but I am slowing the spread. I would have turned in time, but now the vaccine has a chance to work." Pimm looked away, swallowing, and he caught flashes from her, clearer than before. Beyond helping, she wanted to.....the thought eluded her, but she knew her ideas on what to do were the wrong ones. He felt her heart rate pick up, at a few of the ideas, but each was pushed away before they could take hold. But ultimately, he realized she wanted to console him.

"Pimm," his voice soft, making her only half turn her head, "I do have a fighting chance, more than I had, because of you. Thank you." This soothed the growing heat and frustration, drawing a warm smile onto her lips. "OH!" she turned to him, "You scared those poor children nearly to death! But, I saw the why." He grinned, recognizing the rapid change of subject a way to stop thinking of the earlier thoughts. "Well," he admitted slowly, "It was faster than trying to make the colonists realize how bad those children would have it in Imperial space." A wave of exhaustion hit him, eyes half closing. "Pimm, I know it sounds silly, but I'm going to rest again." He tried to settle, and in spite of himself, he winced, the ache from the virus and the poor sleeping arrangements since hitting Taris taking their tolls on his neck.

He felt a struggle, then she moved to him, pointing, "Move." His eyes opened, looking up at her, but complied, moving away from the wall. She moved behind him now, kneeling and sitting on her ankles, and the image in her mind almost made him retch, one of her prior owners using her as a pillow in a similar fashion, before molesting her every time. To be fair, her face showed none of her own revulsion at the memory, so he didn't react, beyond a cursory confusion, "What would you like me to do?" She didn't look at him, conflict rising now inside her, but patted her thigh, "Use my la-egs. As a pillow." He half laid back, propping up on his arm, not touching her, "I'm ok, Pimm. If you'd be uncomfortable, I'll just rest against the wall." A flash of anger? Resentment? Then she looked at him, and those softened, seeing his face. "I insist. Maybe resting right will help the vaccine." Her tone was so carefully structured, he knew she was hiding a great deal behind it, but he just smiled, nodding, and offered a soft, "Thank you Pimm," before laying on his back, head on her thigh, eyes drifting closed instantly.

He rested, falling asleep quickly, his body completely exhausted from the fight and trying to fight the infection. His dreams were vivid, dark, violent. Thoughts of blood and ripping, mixed with the peaceful drift of deep space. Then, warmth, calmness. Peace. When the violence rose, it was soothed away. The calm dreams were left to be, but even then, they had a new sensation.

He woke, hours later, the sun long gone again, seeing the shadow of Pimm above him. Her hands were on his head, but her posture had slumped, softly breathing herself, asleep. He didn't move, not wanting to disturb her, instead focusing inward, a smile on his lips. The infection was gone. He focused, ran over his body multiple times, and each time, he was clean. He looked up at the sleeping twi'lek, owing her his life. She shivered in her sleep, the chill creeping into the shack from outside. The fire had died, and he realized she had been the source of the peace in his sleep, much like when she had been in his lap on Balmorra. He then shifted, roughly, stretching and moaning softly, waking her up suddenly. She looked at him, felt him, and he heard a soft sigh of relief, his masking his body to be in the "waking up" point fooling her. His voice was thick, dry, "Wh...how long was I out?" She looked around, "Hours, Ja'on. It's after dark." He sat up, stretching his back again, and twisted his head, neck cracking multiple times, drawing a pleased sigh from him. He blinked a few times, then laughed, "It worked!"

This brought her attention to him fully, now. "It...it did?" He nodded, making a show of sensing his body, "Yes. No trace of the virus." He could feel her eyes on his back, relief flooding her, eyes watering but quickly blinked back. He moved to the firepit, grabbing the last log and putting it on, the embers lighting it. He made himself busy enough that she could collect herself, before turning back, the shack warming and lighting up, "Thank you Pimm. I mean that." Her smile was bright, eyes downcast just a bit, "It was nothing." Much like his own "of course" it conveyed her intent of there was no other option. "It's black out, we should finish resting here tonight. Then, we can make it back safely."

The two sat in mostly silence for a few hours. He kept picking up that conflict in her. Only once did a thought linger long enough for an image to form in his head, and he was glad that she was inside and he outside to relieve himself when she let it go. It also explained the avid frustration and anger. Her thought of sharing a soft moment was much more intense than he would have thought, followed by a "That was what they expected. It's not right." A moment of longing from her, "I wonder what he would expect. What he'd like." Once he knew she was calm enough to not draw suspicion, he stepped back in. Shortly thereafter, the two fell asleep, his back against the wall, her against his arm, the fire low.

The next morning, the two woke, collected their things, and left the shack. "Will you be safe, Pimm?" She nodded, "Oh yes. I know the way back quite well, and honestly, only came because I felt a tremor in the force, and came to investigate. I had no clue it was you." She smiled, the thought crystal clear in his mind, "But I hoped it was." He laughed and nodded, "Well, I'm glad it was you. Be safe Pimm. May the Force be with you." She nodded, slow on the turn, "And you, Ja'on," then was gone, he turned back to the imperial outpost.


	7. Interlude: Taris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on finishes his mission, and Pimm deals with being missing for three days.

Ja'on let Pimm fall far out of sight, then turned back to the bunker. He had his lightsaber, and there were no living things in it. But, it was there. The mainframe running. The labs functional. He made it to the bunker, and realized there were more rakghouls in the floor, but only a few dozen, with a handful of the humanoids. He hit the floor, killing the poor creatures there, then cut through the door to the lab where the humanoids were being turned, destroying the machines before the remaining hostages could be infected. He collected the remaining people, keeping them close. Taking them back to the entrance, two at a time, he leapt and deposited them on the walkway, until all were safe.

"Stay until I return." He went back down, through the back doors he had melted, and went to the elevator. Dropping instead of going up, he found what he really wanted, the reactor. A quick examination, picking out the points for cooling, the basic processes. Finally, he slashed through a controller, the cooling system shutting down. Then, the temperature began to rise, quickly, dangerously. He ran, jumped up the shaft, and through the floor. On the walkway, he waved, the crew of people running out quickly, and kept going as they felt the rumble, then shockwave as the reactor exploded.

They made it back to the outpost, Ja'on informing the commander that the threat was gone, for good. Back on his ship, he took off, opening the holoterminal to Keeper. "Lord Junath, you are contacting me, so I assume you are...." He nodded, "Safe. Yes, thank you Keeper." The other man actually smiled, brightly, "If I am not too bold, M'Lord, I am glad to hear. Also, the Council requested your presence when you made contact. They had asked if I knew your position, and I could not lie." Ja'on nodded, "Of course. I will make way to Korriban now." The line cut, and he went to the bedroom, collecting his spare mask, then to the bridge, plotting his course, and starting the jump.

Once again, he was in the chamber, bowed before the Dark Council. Lord Dellick spoke, "Lord Junath. For six months, you were out of communications. Unreachable. None knew your location. And then, you reappear, taking a job for...Intelligence. You did not check in with us." Unlike the last time he was here, all members of the Council, minus of course the Emperor himself, were present, deathly quiet. Even Darth Raskar, who had recovered finally from the exposure to the grief he carried, had no smiles for him, her robes more modest this time.

Ja'on rose, looking directly at the Councilman. "Darth Dellick, I was not aware I was under any obligation to check in like a leashed dog every time I made a movement." He felt the titter that was not vocalized by anyone, Dellick's face contorting in rage. "Watch your tongue, Lord Junath, less you lose it." Bathar interrupted now, "You did a mission for Intelligence. What was it." Ja'on turned to face the withered Lord over the scrawny one, drawing a spike of anger. "Taris, Darth Bathar. A scientist was researching on further weaponizing the Rakghoul virus." This DID draw vocalized noise now, Dellick paling. "Oh. And what did you discover?"

Ja'on didn't turn, but could feel the shift instantly. "It was an old togrutan scientist Darth Bathar. He had managed to adjust the virus to no longer so horrifically destroy and mutate the body, leaving the form more humanoid, and able to use weapons, but retained no intelligence." The darkness swept the chamber was palpable. "And the name?" Dellick now interrupted, "It does not matter, there are many who play with that virus, and he did us the favor of cutting the..." but Ja'on was not stopped. "Jared Kathos, My Lord." All those gazes that had been on him, so dark, so ready to strike, now turned to Dellick. Raskar's lips quivered, pulling into a smile. "Oh my. This...is perplexing. We had heard SOMEONE had already killed that scientist." None looked at Junath, though Bathar spoke to him, "You are certain, Lord Junath? Was he lying? Assuming an identity?" Ja'on shook his head. "No M'Lord. He was the real one, no duplicity in his head. He was aware the Council knew of him, asking if I was there to collect his data. Seemed to have an understanding of us." Raskar looked positively ecstatic, "Oh? Is he dead now?" Ja'on nodded, "Blaster to the head. He didn't deserve any real effort on my part."

The Council's whole attention was on Dellick, the implication clear, that he had been responsible long ago to kill the scientist, and hadn't. None said it, all knew it. And Ja'on had cleaned up THAT mess. Bathar finally broke his attention and turned to the Sith on the floor. "What do you make of things." Ja'on looked at all the members, "He was sick, and injured. I've no doubt that the previous encounters had injured him, enough that one could have assumed that he would be dead. But, like most worms who dig below our attention, he simply faked his death and managed to escape, while any reasonable examination prior to such would have shown him dead. To no fault," he turned his own attention to Dellick now, "to whoever had failed so horribly." The mirth rose in the room, all knowing how diplomatic Ja'on was being. To outright accuse a Councilman of failure would be near suicide, but this kept up appearances. Raskar actually laughed, and nodded, “DARTH Junath, Lord of Grief, Council's Right Hand, we thank you for your service." She looked around the room, "Any seconds?" Dellick swallowed hard, knowing he owed the man on the floor, knowing it would be true suicide to not acknowledge that, nodded, "Seconded and passed. Our thanks, Darth Junath." Ja'on bowed, deeply, rose, "Always at the Council's command," and left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pimm had felt the explosion from the reactor, but could not turn back. She was too far back to Republic territory, and engaged with fighting pirates. She did feel him though, as his ship launched, and smiled to herself as she made it back to Olaris. Serah was waiting for her, who she approached, bowing, "Master," coming up with a smile on her face, which froze at the look she was given.

Serah only shook her head, "He was here again. Wasn't he." Pimm blinked, knowing who she was referring to instantly, "He was, but Master," but was cut off by a raised hand. She motioned for Pimm to follow, and the two went to the governor's home, and were given the study to themselves, safe from prying ears. Serah turned on Pimm, face hard, and Pimm took a step back, silent. "Every time you see him, you fall further Pimm!" The Twi'lek shook her head, but still didn't speak. "YOU DO! You felt for him, you.....Pimm, every time you are further under his grip! Who knows what things he put in your head on Balmorra, and now you've been outside of our territory, no communication, for three days!" Pimm felt a flash of heat, pain at the accusation, still silent. "And now, you have nothing to say for yourself? What did you do for him, hm? Did he have you hunt things down? Kill anyone?" Pimm finally found her voice, but it was soft, quiet, "Nothing, Master. He was infected."

This made Serah pause, Pimm stepping forward, voice quivering, "Master, he was here, found a scientist weaponizing further the Rakghoul virus. Those....half-ways we'd seen." Serah nodded, "He was here for them. He destroyed the facility. You may have felt the explosion two hours ago?" Another nod. "He was infected during his fight three days ago, Master. I...I couldn't let him suffer that." Her eyes down, she bared herself. "He makes me feel things, Master. I'm not going to lie."

While she tried to put her thoughts together, Serah voiced it, "You want him as your Master." Pimm looked back up, shocked, face pulled into revulsion, shaking her head. "No! He has honor, morals outside the Sith ideal! I honestly believe had he been in republic space, he would be a great Jedi!" She took another step forward, "He saved my life. Twelve hours of knitting my spine together on Balmorra. I know he hadn't implanted any suggestions, because HERE he did! He made me run, so I wouldn't watch him suffer and turn!" Her fists clenched, "Would you have had me just leave him? To turn into one of those...things? To suffer alone until that moment?" Serah took her turn to shake her head. "Master, you are...a mother and a sister to me. A mentor. I....I can't imagine my life without your guidance and help! But this....."

Serah sighed, the frustration bleeding out, stepping up the rest of the way, hand on Pimm's shoulder. "I just worry about you, my Padawan. Even though you are a Knight, and have been for months, I still worry. And...I know you." Pimm looked to the side, Serah continuing, "You control the urges, but I know that deep down, you have them. I couldn't be more proud of you that you don't let them out. That you have excelled so much. But....he. I know he touches you."

Pimm nodded in agreement, "But he's different." She locked eyes with her Master, "He wants me to be ME. Jedi. Honorable. Your padawan." She reached up, resting her hand on Serah's, "I'll show you, if it will ease your fears, Master." Serah's eyes went wide, "P...Pimm, are you suggesting...." The Twi'lek shook her head. "Offering. I'm your Padawan. If you need proof of my words," she trailed off, a half-smile on her lips. Serah, recognizing the depth of the offer, lightly bumped foreheads. "You....you have my trust, Pimm. I do fear for you, but the fact you would offer that shows me my fears are baseless. Just, please, understand I'm concerned." The Twi'lek nodded, the two embracing warmly.


	8. Corellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pimm's past and training are called upon for the Republic.

Pimm stood before the Jedi Council on Tython. Serah was beside her, the assembled council before her. She had no qualms, or nervousness, instead a sense of pride. Master Shan smiled softly at her, "Jedi Pimm, first, I would like to thank you for coming. We have a mission that requires skill, knowledge, and abilities that only a select few are granted use to." Pimm nodded, "Of course, Master Shan." Master Kiwiiks, a female Togruta, added, "This mission, however, is particularly suited to you." There was a sense of apprehension from the council, and a small spike of....anger?...from Serah as Pimm looked to the woman, "How so?"

The council members all looked to each other, before Bela Kiwiiks continued. "We have reason to believe that members of the Corellian government are Imperial turncoats. SIS can't get anyone into the suspected officials' homes. While Corellia is Republic, and we certainly have our laws in place, one official, Rayf Aldrin, has certain...tastes." Pimm still was confused, before an inkling of a thought hit her head. "He likes near humans?" She shook her head, giggling softly, thinking how silly it was that they were worried her being Twi'lek making the mission easier would offend her. Master Shan took the reigns of the conversation, "He's a slave owner."

This ground the whole conversation to a halt, Pimm's eyes wide as she looked up at the council members. Serah was livid beside her, and only Master Shan could meet Pimm's gaze. Serah's voice nearly shook, "How...dare you? How COULD you?! You know where she came from, what she experienced, and you want to throw her back to that?!" Bela was quick to turn to Serah, "No! Of course not! But we..." Master Shan interrupted, addressing Pimm directly, "We have few choices, Pimm. We need someone who knows customs. Practices. Someone with experience, so that they are not suspected. In addition, your skills at shielding your mind from conventional probes and your skill with unarmed combat, makes you ideal for this mission. But we will not force you to do this." Serah was still shaking, eyes on the Togruta, who returned the frustration to the human. None of the other council members would look at Pimm or Serah, save Satele.

Pimm finally spoke, "What is the final goal?" Her voice was calm, her mind a near blank at what was being asked of her, but understood Master Shan's words. The Jedi Master nodded a soft thanks, "Get a bug implanted to his private communications console inside his private chambers." Pimm nodded, not breaking the gaze of the woman, "And, full cover?" Master Shan nodded. No communications out. No weapons. And expected to...... Pimm's breath hitched. Serah rested a comforting hand on Pimm's shoulder, "You don't have to do this. Any other of our shadows can." Pimm blinked, offering a serene smile to her Master, then back to Satele. "W...will I be to him directly, or?" She swallowed dryly as she couldn't finish the question, and Satele shook her head, "We'll ensure you end there, but you would be in the markets first."

Pimm shivered at the thoughts, memories not drawn on in a long time came now, the noise, the fear, the lecherous looks and gropes, some boys and girls not even lucky enough to be bought for domestic or pleasure reasons. But Corellia, the primary shipyard of the Republic. If the Imperials had hands in that government now, then every republic ship was compromised. The need to know who, how far it went, how long, was critical. "Any means?" Was she to use every tool at her disposal? Body? Subterfuge? Death? To this, Master Shan only nodded.

Pimm had grown accustomed to the freedom, the ability to say no. She felt the looks of non-jedi more than her fellows, because she had been trained to find them. The ogling, the occasional grope, the outright lewd thoughts and requests, were so common to her that they didn't even phase her. Occasionally, if the person was handsome enough, she was even flattered. But they were asking her to give up that right, again, but for good reason. "Equipment?" Bela spoke up again for the first time, "Clothing, with magnetic binders, and a shock collar. It will be fully functional, and full capacity, Knight Pimm, but this one will be what you carry the bug in, designed for that purpose alone. No scan will find it. But...." Pimm nodded, her brain a fuzzy sensation as she processed what was being asked of her. "Egress?" The council shifted again.

Master Shan's voice was subdued, "That is the difficult part, Pimm. We can't just burst in and rescue you. We have no one on the inside, and as such, we don't know how he keeps those slaves. You will not be known for Force sensitivity, of course, so that is to your advantage. But, escape will be solely on you." Pimm processed this, Serah's anger growing, fear as well, but she remained silent. "The binders and collar, will I have a way to remove them?" Bela shook her head, "Any non-keyed method of removal would be identified upon the most basic of scans." So, she was to be put on the market, with a functional shock collar and wrist binders that would magnetically lock to each other or other devices. She would be sold, possibly more than once, to end up at this Corellian official's home. She would plant a bug, and escape, with no way of removing her devices. She now saw why she was being asked.

It's not like the Jedi could trust any other slave to do this. Most would be too terrified. And while Jillian and Phort'ush'iesaft were skilled with sneaking and dedicated to the Order, neither knew the right way to kneel, to ask for food or drink, to know when to beg for mercy and when to just take what was coming. And both were virgins. Her breath seemed hard to draw, when Master Shan spoke again, "Pimm, you do not need to do this. There are other options." There was an unspoken "but" there. "If you say no, not one of us in this room will think less of you." Pimm's chest was let go of that fear, that moment of panic. Master Shan was expressing all the reasons she didn't need to say yes. That meant that all the other options had lower chance of succeeding. They had deliberated long and hard, and most likely only one or two members of the council, if that, would have been totally at ease with asking. That meant that this mission was critically important. The Twi'lek nodded, "I will, Masters." Master Shan gave her a sad smile, "Please wait in your chambers. We'll be there shortly to collect you for briefing." Pimm bowed, and exited, feeling Serah's anger explode after the doors were closed.

In her room, Pimm let the panic wash over her. She paced frantically, wringing her hands, brain screaming at her "why did you say yes?!" She stopped as she passed a mirror, looking at herself. "Oh yeah, that's right," she thought to herself, then said out loud, "I'm a Jedi Knight. Shadow, champion of peace, and will do what needs to be done, to protect the Republic." Just saying it out loud rose her confidence. She had been selected to rescue Mira, though that mission did not end right, but not because of her. She had rescued moisture farmers on Tatooine, ended a Sith incursion in the process that had been driving tusken raiders out of their lands and into republic territory. She had been sent to Balmorra to assist with finding colonists and ending a rogue AI from cascade failing thousands of droids. Hoth, to well freeze, but more importantly to freeze! She giggled as the mission of brokering peace with a pirate faction came to her mind, ending with no bloodshed from either party, when the most likely outcome was the pirates wiped from the galaxy. She had even been an ambassador for the Gree Enclave, helping them repair and rebuild Coruscant's infrastructure.

And then, the side missions. She didn't wallow in the Dark Side, her eyes vibrantly purple now, but she had learned to draw on it. A touch of anger here, wrath and disgust there, spiking her power, pushing her to move faster, hit harder, strike more accurately. Even Serah had adored that, though both knew who truly taught the Twi'lek the benefit and inspired the desire to control herself as such. She took her saber, securing it in her wardrobe, and sat on her bed. A short while later, a knock, and Serah entered the room, sitting beside her. She was still angry, but very much concerned for Pimm. "Are you truly alright with this, my Padawan?"

Pimm flashed her a bright smile, nodding. "Did you bite them this time, Master?" she chided with a small bump shoulder-to-shoulder, making the woman laugh. "No, but I really wanted to on Master Kiwiiks. Just...." she let the thought go, the two sitting in relative silence for a moment. Pimm finally spoke, "I'm afraid of the 'what ifs' Master. What if I can't get away. What if they want to.....do this or that before I can get the bug planted. What if I can't." She took a deep breath, but smiled, "But then, I remember, I'm not just some lost little girl, hopped up on drugs and kept in a cage I could barely move in. I'm a Jedi. With one of the most spectacular Masters I could imagine to teach me." Serah actually almost blushed, "Really?" And Pimm nodded, "Yeah! I mean, Master Shan is SOOOOOOOOOO wonderful!" before she flashed a bright and teasing smile, both women laughing, that deep, ‘This is REALLY funny!’ type of laugh, relaxing them both.

Serah was quiet for a few moments, then voiced her real concern. "What if he's there?" Pimm couldn't help but feel a stab of annoyance at this, turning to Serah. "Master, we've talked about him, and this. Three months ago after Taris, we spent a week JUST talking about this. I may be drawn to him, but I'm not going to abandon the order for him! I haven't even thought of him in the past six weeks." Serah gave that tight smile she reserved for when she was both wrong and right. "And if he shows up in the markets? You won't have a handler." Now Pimm saw the worry, the reason, and realized the validity behind it. She thought, and that fear and excitement gripped her, nodding, "You're right." She acknowledged the truth now, she and Serah had discussed those urges three months ago, and talking about them made them easier to see and control. "But he is honorable, Serah. He may try to free me. And if he's there, then...." she shook her head, this possibility suddenly making the mission much more difficult.

Finally, she looked her Master in the eye, "If he does complicate the mission, I am to finish it by any means." The thought flashed through both of their minds of Pimm squaring off against Lord Junath, in combat. However, neither voiced the concerns, and Serah smiled, "I don't believe he's going to be there. Just, a fear." Then, there was a knock on the door, and Pimm stood, leaving to follow Master Traless for her briefing.

Four months later, she was in deep Nar Shaddaa. Her wrist binders were locked over her head, attached to a chain hanging from the roof of her cage. Her hips swayed as she danced on spot. "Twi'lek dancing girl, only twenty thousand credits." Her feet were bare, legs exposed to the hip, a loincloth hanging from a chain belt covered her front and rear, with a too-small cupped top holding her in and keeping her decent. Her lek'ku were both free behind her back, feet moving, drawing the cloth to almost show more of her body, violet eyes downcast. One potential buyer, it would be the seventh, "Twenty thousand? Really?" Her current handler nodded, "Yes. She is incredibly well trained, across the board. Domestic duties, cooking, of course dancing as you see." The cybernetic chiss man, just shy of six feet tall with black hair looked at her hard, and she felt the cybernetic eye focus on the marred brand, and the one on her hip. "And the bedroom?"

This is where her handler laughed. "I could whore her out for twenty thousand a night, if I wanted to." The Chiss looked at him, surprise in his voice, "Really?" The human nodded. "I swear...the things she does. Her tongue, her tightness. I've...never had better. Nor has the Lord who I'm selling her for. Caused jealousy in his pens, so he just wants the investment returned, cause it'd be a shame to let such a piece to go to waste." Pimm reached out, brushing the Chiss's mind. Imperial intelligence. No ties to the Corellian. He didn't react, and she pushed a soft suggestion, and he responded, "Don't have that kind of cred to burn, in spite of your endorsement." He turned and walked on, as the Twi'lek's feet and hips continued to move. What her handler hadn't mentioned was she had been doing this for nine hours now, and showed no signs of fatigue.

She couldn't help but laugh, internally. The "things" she had done with her body. Only the first who bought her had actually touched her. He was a little older, a human in his late forties, and lonely. Fifty credits, took her to his apartment, had her clean and cook for him. His wife had passed, and he was lost without her. After two nights, he grabbed her, tried to kiss her. Tried, because he couldn't. He had broken down in tears, and she slept with him that night, in the most literal sense. He held her, the two curled on his bed. The next morning, she didn't even need to plant the suggestion, he wanted to set her free. Instead, she suggested reselling, for extra, and perhaps using the extra money for a maid.

The owners after him, though, were all lecherous. One wanted to buy her as part of a sacrifice, but she shifted his mindset before she was to be thrown from the roof. Others wanted an easy lay, someone they could control with fear. Each of those, had memories of just how perfect she was, beyond reproach. She had been quick to wash their clothes, though, so they never found the evidence that they had blown their loads without even getting naked. And each, the suggestion to resell her for this reason or that. And each time, the price went up, drawing more attention to her, raising the class of clients looking at her.

She was content at the moment, still her own self inside her head, the "perfect" slave in body. But, for the first time dancing in her cage, she froze, feeling a presence. Her eyes came up, searching. He was unmistakable, that pulse, that momentary grip on her heart. Swallowing, she continued the dance, and saw him, head and shoulders above the crowd, moving with the bustle of bodies. The crowd gave him space, but he was still forced down the path towards her. If he recognized her, it could get ugly in many ways. WHY did Ja'on have to be here now? She turned to her handler, "Sir, please excuse me?" This owner didn't mind if slaves referred to themselves in the first person, "But I have been dancing for nine hours. If it pleases Sir, may I have a drink?" The handler, who in spite of his job, had a soft spot for the girls, nodded, eyes wide as he realized the time. "Of course, Pfer'o!" He hit the remote, her hands free from the chain, and he opened the cage to the pen behind the counter. She bowed her head, "My thanks, Sir," before moving into the small space. It was low, covered, and had the most basics. A toilet and a reservoir of water. She closed the door behind her, moving and drinking.

Five other slaves were in the pen at the time, some in much worse condition. Beaten, drugged, she recognized the signs. And none spoke to each other, as each was owned by different handlers. Pimm felt Ja'on's presence move closer, then stop. She heard him speaking to someone...her handler. _"shit shit shit"_ she panicked, before calming herself, and reciting the code. "A slave's place is at their Master's feet. A slave has no needs beyond their Master's." The other girls heard her, and crawled towards her, all saying the lines. It drew disgust in each, she felt it, but they had a soothing effect. She saw it now as a conditioning tool, if said often enough, these girls and even herself years ago, one began to believe it. "I'm sorry, M'Lord...." her handler trailed off, question in his tone, "Darth Junath, Lord of Grief, Council's right hand, avenger of Azmi." Her eyes went wide at the title. She knew enough of the Sith that Darth was over Lord, close to the way Master was over Knight for the Jedi. And Council's right hand? She swallowed, as did every other girl, knowing such a powerful man was right outside.

"Darth Junath, I am sorry my girl is in the pen right now, she had been dancing for a while. I can drag her out if you'd like?" She and the girls recited the lines over and over, Pimm blanking her mind except for those words. She felt him, a cursory touch, a moment of presence, then gone, his voice bored. "No. I just thought I felt something. I was wrong." All the girls looked at each other, fear in their eyes, before they finished their little chant. Pimm's heart broke, seeing others stuck, but she did remember one thing, her mission. It was one of the two reasons she did nothing. The other was, Nar Shaddaa was Hutt territory. Slavery was legal here, and she would cause an incident between the Enclave and the Republic if she tried anything.

Once she knew his presence was gone, she drank again, and went back to her door, rapping softly, once. The door opened, and she went back into the cage, hands back on the chain, and began to dance again.

Three more hours of dancing, that moment of panic always at the ready, in case she felt him again, the past four months paid off. The Corellian, Rayf Alder, was walking through the slave market. As her handler called her price, she kicked up the tempo of the dancing, the government official stopping to watch her. She never looked up, just swaying, twirling, and bobbing along. Rayf nodded, and his assistant turned to the handler. "Twenty thousand is steep. What skills does she have?" The man brought out a list, "Cleaning including laundry, dishes, polishing, buffing, and scouring. Skilled in both formal dance and pleasure dance. Can assist in cooking of most known styles and species based cuisines." The assistant nodded, obviously impressed. Rayf spoke, "Virgin?" The handler shook his head, "No, but her abilities to give pleasure are, in a word, breathtaking." Rayf's hand came between the bars, grabbing her chin, lifting her head, tilting it left and right, seeing the scarred and marred brand. "And this?" Her handler looked, "A fallen house, years ago. The slaves marked with it were all either destroyed, or the worthwhile ones had their brand marked out."

Rayf regarded her for a long time, then withdrew his hand, and nodded, "The commandant wants to inspect." The cage's front door opened, and that man stepped in close. His breath smelled of old whiskey, and his mind was open. He was exactly who Pimm was waiting for, and felt the thoughts. It was good he was a suspected turncoat, because he was. But her touching his mind would not be enough, they needed evidence. He was rough, but not sadistic, with her, turning her head, inspecting her scalp and the black tattoos. Peeled her eyelids down and up, inspecting her eyes, then her lips, examining her teeth. She felt revulsion and shame, being inspected so indifferently, like a thing. He felt her arms, then pulled her top open, exposing her and feeling her breasts. "Full, large, but natural." He clasped the top closed, then felt her stomach, and then legs. "Good tone. Lots of strength there." The handler nodded, "She's a great dancer, sir. She's been dancing for twelve hours today alone with just one break." Rayf and the assistant exchanged impressed glances.

Then his hand was between her legs, fingers probing. She jumped at the touch, unexpected, but did not pull away. Feeling her, prying her open, then a finger into her. She gasped now, a soft, throaty one, her body tight around his finger, and she wanted nothing more than to beat him down right there, but she couldn't, instead making a show of enjoying the probe, drawing a nod. "Impressive. Pay him." Rayf stepped back, wiping his fingers on her stomach, then left. Her handler smiled, "I hear he takes care of his girls, Pfer'o." She was then taken from the cage, binders locked behind her back, and placed in a shipping cage. Cramped, but not painful, and sent to her new "owner's" ship.

Soon, the ship took off, then that pull as it made the jump to hyperspace. Finally, that ended, and she waited. Not one person had come to see her since being purchased, not that she expected to be treated like an equal. But she had anticipated the possibility of being used during the space travel. Instead, she felt gravity shift as the ship broke atmosphere, deceleration, and the eventual landing. An hour after that, the cargo hold opened, and a fellow Twi'lek entered. He was tall, teeth ground to points, looking mean. "Well well," he chided in a hissing Ryl, "The Lord finally decided to buy one of our worthless whores." And there was the sexism she remembered from childhood. She didn't rise to the bait, however, drawing a dark smile from him, "At least you know what you are." He pulled out a remote, and the cage opened.

She began to move, knowing what was coming, but wanted to get it over with. He hit the other button on the remote, her shock collar coming to life, drawing a scream of pain. "Good. Such a worthless thing needs to be taught proper manners. You are not to do anything in our presence without direction." He released the button, her body coming back under her control, real tears in her eyes. "I'm sorryAAAAAAAAH!" as another jolt wracked her with pain. "You are a slave! You are MEAT!" He released the button, moving to her, grabbing her neck, lifting her gaze. "You don't deserve to refer to yourself as a self." She swallowed, throat working under his grip, a thought in her mind about how insignificant his hold was compared to another's. "This girl is sorry," she whispered, drawing a nod from him. "Go." He let her go, and she crawled out of the cage, then waited at the door out of the hold, hands behind her back, eyes down.

She wanted to scream at him, throw him across the hold, to show him real power, but refrained. Years of similar treatment flooded her, and a sense of panic, threatening to consume her now, made her wonder if she would be able to complete her mission. He had hoped to hit her with another shock, but she felt the pleasure and disappointment at having a "fast learner" under his care. He led her through the ship, then she saw how the Rayf had managed to have slaves. He landed in his own compound, his ship a private vessel. She was led to a large room, multiple beds, most filled with girls. She was quick to realize she was the only non near-human of the bunch. No Zabrak, no other Twi'lek. Instead, humans, mirialans, and the occasional chiss filled the room. "You are to be here, unless tasked." The handler left, and she slid to the floor, the panic rising to her throat now. The other girls swarmed her now, comforting touches. "It's ok, sweetie. That son of a schutta isn't our Master." "And we know he's...special." One girl straight up said it, "He's been castrated."

This drew a laugh from all the girls, Pimm smiling, looking up. Solidarity and togetherness. Not perfect. This girl was jealous of that one. A chiss was pregnant and terrified. Those three would sell out any of the others for a smile and nothing else. But they did share in each other's station, and were for the most part, their own family. The lead girl, gentle, maternal, "What are you good at sweety, and what's your name?" Pimm looked up, letting some of the panic through in her voice, "Pf...Pfer'o. And I can clean, cook, dance, and..." she trailed off as the girls all nodded. The brunette who had said the Twi'lek handler had been castrated, "If you hadn't yet, you would be now, sweetie. It's better you already know that part of life."

They got her up, and to a bed, where she was able to fall asleep. The next week, she had been relegated to cleaning. Never alone, she did get to explore the entire facility. And each room she left nearly sparkled from her efforts. Years as a slave, plus just the chores as a padawan shown through. Soon, she knew the entire layout, and began working guard patrol paths and times. The biggest issue, of course, was security cameras.

For the three following days after that, she was in the kitchen from wake to sleep, cooking, learning the tastes of her Master and his house. Rayf was, as she had heard, good, but Boc Ven, the twi'lek handler, was every part of the horrific life as a slave their true Master lacked. Cruel, sadistic, and just mean to boot. The next day after learning to assist in the kitchen, he was in the doorway, waiting. "Whore!" he called out in Ryl, the other girls not sure what he had said. Pimm stood and approached, silent, eyes down, and felt the tremor of pity behind her, knowing he had the remote in hand. He led her to a room she'd only passed, medic bay.

The in house medic looked up, then motioned to the table, and Pimm moved, laying on it. Her binders locked to the surface, then a second pair were attached to her ankles and activated, pinning her. The medic pulled out an autoinjector, moving to her, when Boc shook his head, "It doesn't need that. Let's get it done, so I'm not down a hand." The medic didn't argue, and she felt total indifference from the man, then heard the hum, and saw the brand in his hand, eyes wide. He came to her neck, turning her head to see the previous brand, her body trembling under him, and could all but smell the arousal on Bec. "Old brand, fallen house or some drivel. Other side." The medic turned her head, and she tried to prepare herself, but the searing sensation on her skin, the smell of burnt flesh, she couldn't help but scream in pain, before the brand was pulled away, her body trying to thrash, before a soothing coolness hit her, eyes blurred with tears, breath sharp and hitching. She felt the mean in Boc increase, though. "Not enough. We need it to know this is its place. Till death."

The medic just looked at the Twi'lek in the doorway, and Pimm felt an annoyance from him. But, he wasn't going to argue, speaking for the first time, "Where then." Boc moved to the table of tools, picking up a clamp, then moving to Pimm, glaring at her, then fingers were in her mouth, pulling it open, the clamp grabbing her tongue and pulling it out of her mouth. "Here." The medic didn't care, and started to come down, the heat felt on her nose and lips, eyes wide, frozen, knowing that even the best scenario here was going to cause permanent damage to her, before a hard voice, dark, gravelly, "What in the name of the Emperor is going on here?!" Both men froze, and turned, Pimm's eyes clearing, half expecting to see a behemoth of a man in the doorway.

To her disappointment, it was just Rayf. Boc spoke, "Just branding the new meat, Lord Alder. Since one brand was already destroyed, we were going to ensure it never forgot who it belongs to." Rayf looked pissed, walking up, taking the brand from the medic, brandishing it at Boc now. "I should brand you, Boc. You KNOW damn well that the envoy is going to be here tonight! What will I do, if my only REAL dancer can't perform? Apologize that the entertainment I promised is broken?" Pimm felt hurt, now. Rayf didn't care about her well being, beyond her ability to do what he desired. But then, it was the life of a slave, she had only forgotten for a minute.

She was released, the antiseptic gel letting the brand heal quickly. The entire house was in a rush, she realized, and knew that the envoy spoken of, would be from the Empire. Soon enough, she was instructed to rest, for that night would be hard, and she needed to be at her best. Fear gripped her as she was alone, what if...no...for certain...WHEN he showed up, what would she do now? He would out her, either out of loyalty to the Empire or out of a desire to help her. Both were bad for her, ankles and wrists now in binders, and nothing she could do would stop that shock collar from putting her into spasms.

At last, around dinner, she was called. She entered the main hall, eyes scanning. It was a party, imperial officials, hutt enclave representatives, and Rayf, all at the table eating, the girls all in their skimpiest, serving the food and drink, a few under the table already. She caught Rayf's gaze, and he nodded to the floor in front of the table, and she heard the music. She moved to the spot, quickly shifting her mindset. She couldn't let herself be distracted, if she failed him, she would suffer, and never get her mission done. She fell to that part of her that loved the dance, all the other noise gone, and felt the pulse of the music.

Her hips started, drawing her into movement, moving across the small area fluidly, feet leading the leaps, high kicks, chest out, spins causing her cloths to raise high on her hips, but never fully exposing her. She felt most of the men's eyes on her, watching and enjoying the motions, lek'ku following her head's movements. Lost in the tempo, lost in the display, she just danced. Some time later, she heard the voice, "An impressive display, Rayf. Four hours, without stopping. I see why you purchased it, but really? Twi'lek? Couldn't find a human?" She felt the meanness starting, as a second, "I'm curious how else it can move." A third, "Does it make noise?" And she knew, the instant before it happened, what was coming. She threw herself into a high leap, legs spread, as the click happened, the collar coming to life, wracking her body in spasms. Unlike the "training" shock Boc used, this was the collar at full capacity, drawing a scream threatening to blind her and collapse a lung from her throat.

She crashed to the floor in a lump as the charge was kept up, wracking her body, her new dance a writhing spasm across the floor. One of the imperials stood, moving over to her, before a boot was planted into her stomach, sending her back a few feet. "Delicious, Rayf." The shock stopped, and she tried to catch her breath, before a new shock hit her, the standing imperial having drawn a stun baton, discharging it into her ribs, no scream now as she had no air left in her lungs, he waiting for the breath out before hitting her. This was let up, her unable to move, tears blinding her, before another kick put her on her back, the baton in her stomach, forcing her back to arch, the top falling open now, leaving her exposed and writhing, none would come to her aid.

Only three thoughts kept her from wishing death in that moment, the first, her mission. The mission was so important, she was asked, but not expected, to endure this. The second was Serah. A rock, a lifeline, her savior, her mother and sister. She needed to survive to see her. And finally, in her heart, Ja'on. She couldn't give up, not without seeing him. Seeing if he had fallen, or if it was a show. The shocking stopped, then her scream rose an octave as it came down on her breast, directly on her nipple, that contact making it impossible for her to even think, before a fist caught her stomach, winding her completely, unable to draw breath, until blackness clouded her vision, then sweet nothing.

Pimm awoke sometime later, body in pain, now nude, lungs hurting, limbs asleep, her hands behind her back, binders locked, ankles together as well, the four all locked to each other, forcing her in a painful kneel. Her jaw hurt, realizing a painful ring-gag was installed, stretching her mouth, causing her to drool onto her legs. The room was dimly lit, and she felt the presence. Not Boc, nor Rayf. It was the imperial who had tortured her before. Fear gripped her for a moment, as he stirred, "Good. It got boring without a response." He walked over, the light rising in the room, and she saw him pulling himself out, "You disgust me, but a hole is a hole, as they say, and you do scream deliciously." She held back her anger, as his hands came down, stroking her lek'ku, drawing an involuntary shiver, then pain making a choked cry escape her throat as he grabbed them the way some would grab hair.

He pulled her head back, and saw in his mind. He was going to fill her throat, regardless of how tight she was, and use her until he sprayed on her. Anger flared now upon seeing the hope she would die on him, since he wasn't going to pull out until he finished, and reached, freezing him. She gave him the memory of plunging into her, her body writhing under him, her eyes bulging and tearing up. She forced the tears now, running down her cheeks, then triggered his body, unfreezing him, as he unloaded on her face, "Scum like you don't deserve my seed inside them."

He finished quickly, she only nudging his seed to not hit her eyes or run down to the fresh brand, panting, tongue out, looking up at him. He looked at a chrono, then down at her. She didn't give him any illusions of being special, in fact he blew himself in record time, only forty seconds. He looked down at her, violet eyes on his, panting heavily, daring him. A thought filled her head, he had a bag. He would show this scum what it meant to insult him like that. She nudged the thought, she wasn't his, as he pulled it out, the sheer plastic clear. "I could wrap your head in this, filth. Tie it off. And just leave it." He came closer, "If I find out you tell anyone how little time it took, I will regardless of WHO owns you." He hit the remote, the binders unlatching, and he turned, leaving the room.

She stood, moving to the sink, cleaning herself with a towel, disgust rising in her throat and stomach, then dressing when she heard a commotion, the other girls in the hall. "Pfer'o, come on!" The brunette had stopped, seeing her. "The last member of the envoy arrived. A Sith. We need to be on point!" Then she was gone, and Pimm's heart threatened to stop, before reaching up and removing the ring gag. This...this was bad. She heard footsteps, a man, alone, and recognized the mind. She stepped into the hall as Rayf came around the corner, eyes down. "Good, our last member is here. You are to," he paused, seeing her face.

"Lord Rayf, this girl is frightened of the Sith. The fallen house," he nodded, "drew their ire. This one is frightened, completely, that if the Sith sees the brand...." she trailed off and saw him draw the conclusion she wanted. "I see. I am not expected to present all my slaves to him." He stepped up to her, lifting her chin, drawing eyes to his. "You will wait in my chambers. Once I've gotten my money's worth, I may still present you to them, but not tonight." She smiled, nodding, "This one thanks Lord Rayf." The sincerity was genuine, and he let her go, nodding as she all but ran down the corridor.

Once outside his chamber, she paused, the guard looking at her, his eyes on her body, lust in his mind. "Lord Rayf has directed this one to await in his chambers." The guard nodded, and keyed a small comm, quickly asking and getting a response, then let her in. There, on the opposite end of the room, was the console she needed to reach, before she felt the movement. "Kneel." Pimm did, back to the armed guard, placing her arms behind her back, and then the beep, her body locked, once again, in the painful kneel.

It was hours, she was stuck there. She didn't dare try to free herself, yet. While she could have touched the guard's mind outside the door and had him release her, she couldn't risk being free when Rayf showed up. Finally, he did, and he looked over her. "You danced well," he said, acknowledging her skill. "And our guest was most impressed with your mouth." He stepped around her, and she felt his mind. He had thoughts, desires, nothing outlandish. But wanted to enjoy her dancing more, as he stripped. "Our last guest is entertained right now, and for the moment does not know you exist." Finally nude, his body showing age and a lack of real exercise, he sat on the bed, releasing her. A new music filled the room, and she stood, moving in front of him. His eyes on her figure, he certainly thought she was worth less than any others for her race, but her body was still pleasing. She started a new dance, slower, closer to him, hips swaying, hands and arms moving, giving him a show.

Realizing she may, truly, never have another chance, she froze him, and continued her dance in his mind, hand moving to the collar, the bug released with the mental command. She went to the console, pulling open a maintenance panel, and got her arm in as far as she could, seating the bug in the circuitry. She then closed it, moved back to him, and picked up her dance, releasing him from her hold. He swallowed, legs spreading, and she came in closer, removing her top, letting him grope her, moaning at the touch, hands over his body, mind rebelling, wanting so much to just let him think this had happened, but knew with a Sith, using the force too extensively was dangerous. She straddled him, grinding against him, his mouth on her skin now. Her mission was accomplished, but she still needed to survive long enough to get out. He rolled her over, her body too much for him, pulling her cloth aside, and plunging into her. She forced herself to respond, moaning and cooing, legs wrapping around him.

Later, surprisingly for her at the length of time, he was finished, deep inside her. He rolled and fell asleep, and she felt a way she hadn't in years. Disgusted. Violated. But he had been gentle, even attentive. But she was just a thing for him. But that other part of her, felt pleased she had done a good job, that he HAD enjoyed her. She wasn't locked, he was asleep. She could kill him right now, but that would fail the mission. She went to the fresher, and cleaned her body, wanting to sob. She felt inside herself, and ensured his actions would have no lasting effects, but beyond that did nothing. She dried, and curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, still nude.

In the morning, Pimm was woken up by Rayf, and sent back to the slave chamber. Once there, the brunette, who was always quick to chide or poke fun at the free, was stumbling in. Her hair was a mess, makeup having run down her face and streaked, her clothes barely in place, swaying heavily as she stumbled. "Pfer'o? Hi!" She threw her arms around the Twi'lek's shoulders, using her to support herself. "What happened after?" There was genuine concern in her voice, and Pimm felt a stab of anger that she, nor any of the other girls, had tried to help her, but then remembered where they were. "That imperial took me to a bedchamber. Used me." The two gave each other a sidelong glance, "He didn't last a minute." A shared giggle, the brunette nodded, "Good girl. After that though?"

Pimm was quick with this answer, "After you saw me, Lord Rayf found me. Wanted his money's worth." A nod, sympathetic smile, "Did you do well?" Pimm nodded, "I think so. He couldn't wait for me to finish dancing." A proud spike of approval, "Good!" Pimm's turn, "And you Jeanette?" The human's eyes went wide at the memories, a jumbled mess that Pimm could barely make out. "The Sith. Oh...." she shook her head. "His hands, his mouth. He...ravaged me Pfer'o! All but worshiped my body. Every inch, no pain. He just...." she blinked, unable to voice the intensity. "And then when it was his turn," her lip vanished between her teeth. "I couldn't take him for more than four or five thrusts, and THOSE only took like, two inches of him. He is HUGE!"

Pimm looked over, unsure if she could believe that. "Oh come on Jeanette! No one can be THAT big!" The human shook her head. "Pfer'o, you don't get it. He's like, seven feet tall! HUGE!" Pimm saw a flash now, formal robes, black trimmed in silver, a foot or more above his fellows, a quick smile, and those blue, intense eyes. "And handsome. He picked me for last night. And he's going to be here for a week, with the rest of the envoy." Pimm hardly heard the words, "And he said he might take me again, but there are others he's interested in. ANY of us would be lucky!" Now the images were clearer, his strength as he held Jeanette on his shoulders, mouth on her. His lips on her neck, fingers working her tenderly. He had spent the whole night adoring her body, and Jeanette had ended up using her body, chest and hands to finish him off. Even when she was terrified he couldn't plunge in her, his voice was calm, "I want us to enjoy this, not rip you in half."

Pimm froze, head turning now to look at Jeanette, her brain a fuzz at the images, and the intensity of them, the brunette just staring off in afterglowing bliss. When the Twi'lek stopped, the human turned to look, and saw the face, her own dropping. "Pfer'o," the Jedi imagining throwing the human around, "listen, you should know better." She saw herself confronting Ja'on, and beating him, before taking him, which caused her to flush, "Jealousy has no place among us slaves." Pimm blinked, looking down, "I know...my night was excellent, and yours....I'm sorry you were tortured. I'm sorry that imperial was....yeah, and that Lord Rayf isn't a lover." She turned to face Pimm fully, both hands on shoulders, "But that Sith Lord will be here for a week." "Shit shit shit!" "I'm sure you'll have PLENTY of time to present yourself to him. He doesn't seem...well. I can't say for sure. But I think he'd actually want any of us."

Pimm counted to thirty, breathing slowly, in her mind she just recited the Jedi Code. She looked up, offering a smile to the human, "I'm sorry. Just...yeah. I wish I could have had your night." She retook Jeanette's weight on her shoulder, helping her to the room and her bed. Silently, she chided herself, realizing she had slipped. Four months, plus the week already, she had fallen to her slave mindset, wallowing in the darker spots. And then, as though she had some claim on Ja'on as her own.

The next few days were frantic for her. Avoiding the guest corridors, resisting when she could. Staying from the main hall during meals. Her own anger and jealousy bubbling under the surface, mixed with the need for her mission. But, neither was made easier. Every night, a different girl was taken by him, the third night he took two. The images Pimm got out of their minds as they returned. Passion. Intense, powerful passion. Kisses, strokes, gropes, moans and cries of pleasure. On the other hand, Pimm suffered. Forced to the dirtiest jobs to avoid the hall. Taking forty seconds of the shock collar to not report to the guest corridor. Threats of more branding, on her lek'ku, or her tongue, or even to take her eye, the only reason none were carried out was the guests.

The second to last night before the envoy would leave, she got completely fed up, beyond the ability to cope with her position. She found the imperial that had tortured her. During that day, he put the pregnant chiss into the medical bay. She wasn't pregnant anymore. In the corridors, she was demure, silent as he stopped, facing her. "What?" he growled, and she responded, "Sir, this girl has had no thoughts beyond the night you had her. This one wants...no...needs more. To feel your hands on every inch of her body, instead of being unconscious. To be filled, repeatedly. To lose this one's breath." Her eyes flickered up, and saw in his mind the thoughts she suggested, taking her from behind as she was locked down and pinned, the bag over her head.

He twitched, a few times, and she saw the thoughts taking root, and he nodded. He dragged her to his room, grabbing for the remote, before she was on him. He couldn't even get the remote out before she had ripped his pants open, taking him in her mouth, his hands on her head, hips pumping, growing hard before her hand came up and smashed him in his balls, the force clenching his voice box so no noise was heard. She pulled back, standing, and then punched him across his face, knocking him down. She took the remote, and threw it across the room where it shattered, then came up and kicked him in the guts, making him double around her foot. Then, she froze, looking at him, seeing how much harder he had gotten, his eyes on her. He croaked out, "W..who told you? And harder, slave." She saw it, his racism, his loathing, all led to an inferiority complex, where he wanted her to dominate him, beat him, humiliate him.

So she complied, kneeing him in the groin as she ripped his coat off, flipping him and using it to tie his hands. She grabbed a nearby datapad, and began wailing on his ass, making his cheeks red quickly. She stood, kicking him back onto his back, his hips thrusting, wanting contact. She smashed his shaft with her foot, grinding it hard, bruising it, threatening to break it, before she dropped over his body, straddling him. Her hands came to his throat, and squeezed hard. He was writhing under her, and all of her anger was bleeding into him. All the frustration, the disgust, his face turning purple. Only when he blew, spraying her back, did she let go, him gasping. He started to get uppity, and her fist came up to smash into his nose, making him quiet. She stood, "Get out yourself. Plenty of slack in the knot." She then left, letting his seed trail down her back as she made it back to the slave quarters, hearing one of the girls crying with need as she passed a door.

She made it back to the quarters, and cleaned herself. One more day, night, and they would be gone. She could survive that long, then escape. She fell asleep, with images of herself on Ja'on's shoulders, straddling his lap, facing away with him deep inside her, being coated with his seed. She awoke, feeling frustrated, and angry still. Word got around that the imperial she pummeled was 'ill' and staying in his quarters, but that he was fine. She got lippy with Boc Ven, and was shocked into unconsciousness. Towards the end of the day, she was tasked to take some linens into the guest hall.

She didn't even think of it, and was finished with the delivery, heading back when she felt that ping. So caught up in her frustration, she didn't even realize the time. She saw him come around the corner, one of the other Chiss and a human on his arms, and they locked gazes. Pimm saw the two, jaw setting, eyes to his, body trembling. Ja'on matched her gaze, his voice cool, "Who is this one?" The Chiss, one of the girls that would turn in the others for anything, spoke up, "Pfer'o. Twi'lek dancer Lord Alder bought for the envoy, and then she’s been avoiding you all since." Pimm didn't break her gaze, afraid that anything would make her explode right there. "Tell Lord Alder, I'm having her tonight. You two. Go." Pimm nearly screamed at him, like she was going to let him touch her. However, the girls were already gone, and he was on top of her in two strides, hand on her throat, and drug her through the door into his room, closing the door behind her, pushing her into the room.

The two looked at each other for a long time, before Pimm finally growled out, "You karking, sculag...SCHUTTA!" His eyes narrowed at the outburst. She met his gaze, face curled into anger, "You prance your new title about, your rank like it MEANS something! You come here. HERE! And you make a show of kriffing ANY piece of tail you can?!" She stepped up to him, punching his chest, bruising her knuckles, his lips pulling into a purse as she continued, "And show them ALL the time of their lives! It's all they can think about! How sweet you are! How passionate you are! HOW FETHING WONDERFUL YOU ARE!" Another punch, drawing a growl from him. "When not ONE of them has seen you! You crying over your wife's death!" He stepped against her, driving her back. "You sobbing and swearing death for your son's life!" Another step. "They didn't get to see you become a monster for children, SCARRING THEM FOR LIFE!" She smelled the ozone first, then the bright blue of lightning on his arm, coming up, pointing at her, and she saw his eyes turning yellow. Tears on her cheeks now, "They didn't lay there for twelve hours, naked, while you fixed them! They didn't spend three days making sure you didn't turn into a rakghoul! So do it. DO IT!"

He watched her, for a long time, before growling, "How dare you." She smacked his charged arm to the side, or tried to, crying out in pain as she discharged some of the energy through her body, then punched him again. "HOW DARE I? It's only been a year, but you certainly got over MIRA fast enough to drag seven different girls here in a WEEK! Fast enough to even be browsing slaves!" They stared each other down for a long time. He finally spoke, "You WERE at Nar Shaddaa?" She nodded. "I wasn't sure. I had been drinking, and when I felt the blank mind just reciting those words, I just passed over you." She snorted, "Of course you were. Had to get ready for this deal, right? Get over yourself. Get over her!" He finally snapped, shouting, "DO NOT SPEAK OF MIRA LIKE THAT!" that lightning discharging, arcing all around her, but not scorching the walls this time.

This drew a fear from her now. She realized she had gone too far, back stepping quickly, but hit the door, and his hand was on her neck. She wasn't going to apologize, not now, but it would let Serah have peace, knowing she was right about the Sith. "I have NOT gotten over her, or Dust. I have NOT lost myself in this show." He leaned closer, squeezing, and she now felt that power Genna had, her body shivering under that grip and gaze. "I AM here for the Council, but I couldn't care less about dragging those slaves in here. Instead, Rayf insists, so that I think highly of him. If I refused, it would look bad." She blinked now, seeing his heavy breaths, and felt the spike of self-loathing from him, her hands finally coming to his, trying to swallow, the grip hurting. She writhed just a bit, "And you? I've heard of your skills with your mouth. And that beating that man into cumming on you? The fact you would rather be shocked than dance?! You judge ME for being here, but you've just thrown yourself back into this life, haven't you!"

Her own anger flared, and she punched him again, this time not just an angry, weak blow, but a real, focused punch, drawing a wince from his face, causing him to squeeze tighter, and lift, her legs kicking, before squeezing his hand with every ounce of focus she had, using the Force to pull his fingers to part. Her lips pulled into a snarl, she then tried to plant a kick into his hip, but a shift of his waist put her heel on his thigh instead. Then, he just let her go, stepping back, letting her fall to the floor. She gasped hard, holding her throat, trying to force the bruising to go down, squirming as she tried to breathe. She felt him watching her, knowing she would die as she was if she couldn't get the swelling to go down, before he moved. She thrashed at him, hitting him with a wave of force to push him back, but instead he grabbed her arms, pinning them at her side, and much like she had the night prior, straddled her body with his legs, and sat, pinning her still.

However, he didn't put his weight on her torso, just her arms, and then touched her neck, drawing a strangled cry as fear began to fill her, but she found it suddenly easier to breath, no longer feeling her heartbeat in her head. She shook under him, his hand still on her neck, but not squeezing. They continued the long, quiet look at each other, before she said, "I didn't throw myself in." He tilted his head, then his hand was on her head. She felt him, in there now, pushing. She struggled, throwing everything she could at him. A wall, a barrier, a repulsive pulse to push him out. Then, she brought up every chaotic thought she could, but he was unaffected. The walls just fell away, the barriers ineffective. The attacks just washed over him, and the walls of chaos just seemed like noise. "GET OUT!" she cried, doubling and tripling her walls, hiding the mission under more and more chaos, the manifestation of his mind in hers flicked his right arm, a blade forming from it, made of pure energy. He grabbed one of the errant thoughts, a memory from when she was twelve, the first Master grabbing her, groping her non-existent rear.

She watched him, as he looked at the memory, "Do you cherish this?" She shook her head, and he brought the edge of the blade to it, and she could feel the memory going fuzzy. She realized the potency of his blade, that it could destroy, permanently, her memories. Even though it was one she hated, one that disgusted her, she still screamed “No!” He lowered the weapon, letting the image go, and started to wade through the chaos towards her. He was careful, however, not letting the energy touch her mind at all. She was panting with the effort, glancing at the core, her mission. "Is that why you are here?" She nodded, watching memories swirl around him, the effort subconscious at this point. The first time she was taken. Forced to use her mouth. The first orgasm. The first time she saw Serah, with bright green blade of energy after cutting down her Master. The memories on the frigate, on her knees, and the flash of thought of him taking her. With that, the beam vanished. "Why are you here then." She shivered, swallowing dryly, shaking her head, as he came closer, and saw his eyes fade from yellow, that deep blue. He reached out, palm up, "Why are you here Pimm?"

She shook, then gasped out, "Mission." He nodded, and was gone. The next moment, she was...somewhere. It was dark, cloudy on the horizon. Dark, frightening clouds. It was a plain, no trees, extending, as far as she could feel, forever. He was there, kneeling. She approached him, and saw over his shoulder. He was at a grave, a double. "Mira and Dust." He stood, and walked, the memory fading as he walked, and the plains exploded into Corellia, and she recognized Rayf's compound instantly, the two moving through corridors. The imperial she beat with his thoughts and excitement for her to see. Rayf's indifference to everything but the almighty credit. The Hutt representative who wanted to eat a slave, in the most literal sense. Finally, they were in his room, and she saw Jeanette, asleep on his bed, as she writhed with pleasure, but he was sitting at the desk. Then the next girl. The two. She looked at him, and in spite of herself, just started laughing, wildly.

He looked to her, face turning ugly, and she shook her head. "I did the same. For months. And the first time with that imperial." They looked at each other, then the realm faded, he was sitting over her, before he stood. His hand down, palm up, he offered to help her up. She took it, and he pulled her up. "Are you done?" She nodded, regardless of his question. Done being mad or jealous. Done with her mission, it didn't matter. "Do you have an out?" She looked down and shook her head. He watched her, for a long moment, neither addressing her jealousy yet. He stepped up closer, finger under her chin, raising her gaze. "Do you want help." She swallowed softly, and she realized she wanted so much more than help from him. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to say, what to ask for.

He let her chin go, and softly pushed her into his shower, and moved to his desk, pulling out his communicator. "R7." A droid's beeping came over, "Check the news, military feeds, and focus on Corellia." A few whistles, then he pulled out his datapad, and the feed started to scroll. "Uplink to Keeper. Omega Lambda Lambda." A few moments later, and she could hear a cool, professional voice, "Keeper here, Darth Junath." "Keeper, do we have any intel on Corellia?" The other man's voice was cooler, "Yes. Rayf is compromised. Do you know anything about it?" Ja'on was cool in return, "Of course not, but before I availed myself to tonight's pleasures, I felt a disturbance. What do we have?" Keeper was quiet a moment, "The Republic has irrefutable evidence. He is going to be tried and incarcerated. There will be a strike team there in fifteen hours." Ja'on nodded, "Then I have no reason to stay." Keeper shook his head, "Of course not, M'Lord. A shame it took us this long to recognize this." Ja'on sighed, heavily, "How many plants are compromised?" Keeper was quiet again, "At least four others."

Ja'on growled, and Pimm felt his anger spike. "I am going to end him for his recklessness." Keeper made a noise, clearing his throat, and Ja'on didn't end the transmission. Keeper was quiet for a long time, then came back, "Approved, M'Lord." Ja'on ended now, and went to his wardrobe, taking his mask and donning it. Pimm came out, holding her hand up, shaking her head. "You can't. Not him. The republic NEEDS him alive." The two stared each other down, before she offered, "Get your men out, Ja'on. The ones you need to believe you. I'll destroy what I can to make your story believable, while meeting my needs. Ok?" He nodded, and the two left the room.

She ran, leaving the guest hallway as fast as she could, before she felt him quietly alerting his fellows to leave. Now. She had her first to find, before finding Boc Ven. He turned to her, "Whore," he hissed, grinning at her, hand holding the remote. She grinned at him, and before he hit the button, she gripped him with the force, freezing his body, his eyes wide, recognizing her for what she was. Then, a twist of her wrist, his neck snapped cleanly, he fell to the floor lifeless. She continued, finding more of the worse people, ending them quickly. Far faster than some deserved.

Finally, she was down to Rayf, feeling most of the imperials gone. The worst of the racists were, somehow, still here. She went for him, to his chambers, when her collar activated, drawing a scream, her body thrashing on the floor. Rayf stepped out of his chamber, remote in hand. "A Jedi. I should have been more careful with my purchases, but you were a pleasant diversion." As she struggled against the shock, she heard a beep and felt the pull, then her hands and ankles snapped together, then wrist to ankle, hogtying her tightly. The shock continued as she watched him pull out a blaster, aimed at her skull. "And few will doubt my power when I say I enslaved, and executed a Jedi." She closed her eyes, knowing his fate was sealed regardless, but a tear did fall from each eye. She felt a pulse, heard a crack, and a thud, and then opened her eyes to the heavy steps, as Ja'on stepped over her, the shock stopping.

"I'm sorry for taking him down, Pimm, but I couldn't just let him kill you." She smiled at him, and then wiggled. He took the remote, disengaging her binders, limbs falling to the floor. He helped her up, and she gazed at his mask. "Is he alive?" He nodded. The urge to kiss him, to grab him, to take him right there, nearly overwhelmed her. He gave her a nod, and turned, and left. She watched him, then felt the remote she now realized he had put in her hand, and disengaged her collar and binders. Jeanette came around a corner, looking at her, "Pfer'o?" Pimm smiled, turning, shaking her head. "The name is Pimm, Jeanette. Jedi Knight." She watched as Jeanette's face looked between her, the damaged body of Rayf, and then brighten.


	9. Interlude: Corellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a chance meeting

Fifteen hours later, Havoc squad arrived. They swarmed the compound, and found Pimm, in the too-skimpy outfit, sitting next to Rayf, just grinning. They had almost no work to do, dragging Rayf off to the ship. The few imperial officials Ja’on left gave up without a fight as well. Serah was there with them, and came to her Padawan, concern on her face, but seeing that smile and purple eyes calmed the anxiety obviously on her face.

Three days later, the two were alone on Tython, Pimm finally holding her lightsaber again. Serah’s concern washed from her in waves, and Pimm was touched. “Now, are you sure you’re ok? Four months before reaching your target. Did….” She shook her head. “No. None touched me during that time, Master. Many thought they did, however.” The two laughed softly. “Only one person actually touched me while at Rayf’s, him.” Serah held her breath, “He wasn’t bad. No trauma.” She turned and met Serah’s gaze.

"Ja'on was there. And, Master, I. I." She dropped her gaze. "I hid from him. He had the other girls. I discovered he only gave them memories of their nights, like I had. But before I learned that, I was so....jealous." Serah's smile faded. "Does he know?" Pimm nodded. "What did he do?" Pimm looked up, biting her lips. "He realized I was on a mission. He checked with Intelligence, they knew by that point Rayf was compromised. He got out a few of the imperials, left others. He...saved me again. Rayf got the drop on me, I was hogtied and shocked. About to be shot in the head. Ja'on saved me."

Serah nodded, processing the information. "Did you two..." and Pimm shook her head. "He touched my mind. Showed me his. He..knows. Knows I desire him." She saw Serah's maternal temper flare, but that ended quickly, and a soft smile, "Well, he didn't press it. I'm glad. Now, rest." The two embraced as Pimm fell asleep on her bed, Serah outside of the room, her face hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ja'on was on the Jade Eagle. He opened a communication to Darth Raskar. Her face came up, smile on her lips, hair in a double ponytail. "Darth Junath." She knew, her tone said it all. "I'm calling in my first favor." Her face dropped instantly, fear filling it. "It's simple, Darth Raskar. The bug in Rayf's house was planted before I was there, the day I arrived. I didn't know, and wasn't looking for one." He leaned forward. "I did collect the data he had for us, however." She blinked, "And your favor?" His chin lifted, "No negative reflection. You will squash it before I arrive."

The transmission ended, and when Ja'on was in the Dark Council chamber. "Here is the data, sadly it doesn't have any extra real information on republic cruisers. Rayf had drastically overstepped himself in his promises." He could feel Dellick's desire to call him out for failure. The other Lords had a sense of disappointment, but not one spoke out. Darth Raskar was sweet, "Thank you, Darth Junath. You are excused." He bowed and left. He waited in the corridor, knowing what was coming, and sure enough, she did. "Darth Raskar."

She met up with him, looking up at him, "I am glad you managed to get the men out you could. And to be frank, the ones you left were worthless, so no loss there. I HEAR you had....what...six girls over your week?" He nodded, "Have you put any thought...to my offer?" He sighed, her hand coming up quickly, "No. Not a seduction. Just...a hope I guess." She smiled at him, stepping back to not crowd him. He shook his head, "No. What else, Darth Raskar?" She seemed a little put out by the dismissal, but knew the alternative. She held herself at that memory, the grip always readily there when she thought of it. "It took time. Darth Bathar sided with you instantly. Dellick wanted to press for punishment. I had to give a few favors, though they were quickly taken." She giggled and shook her head. "How much, Darth Junath. How much do I owe you?" He was quiet for a few moments, then said softly, "Until I say, Darth Raskar. But you should be able to tell." She looked at him, as he turned away. "The grip was less this time, yes?"


	10. Alderaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on is called to task, showing a great deal of diplomacy.

It had been only two months since the Empire had lost five of its plants on Corellia. Darth Dellick had completely ceased trying to work against Ja'on, realizing the Council as a whole preferred the Hand over the Councilman. He had run a few missions, to Voss, and Hoth, even a brief mission to Nal Hutta. Like all his work prior to Corellia, these missions were all exemplary. Pirates routed. Contracts strengthened with the Cartels. An uprising put down. Of course, they didn't know that the rebels were now safe, deep in Republic territory, but his results of the situation mattered.

The Admiralty contacted him while he was relaxing on Nar Shaddaa, a bottle of whiskey on the console, the first glass still in his hand. "Darth Junath, we apologize for contacting you, but we have a delicate situation on Alderaan. One of the lesser noble houses, Bathera, has acquired something of Imperial interest. They are certainly forthcoming, wishing to had it over, but they have multiple issues. Brute force from our normal methods will avail us nothing, and could even drive the house to Republic sympathies. And a normal diplomat would be ill-suited, considering the hostilities planetside." Ja'on took another, small sip from his drink, in front of the holoprojector, pacing slowly, silent.

"What we require, M'Lord, is someone with strength and skill in combat, who understands Alderaanian politics extensively, and can be diplomatic." The Sith continued to pace, taking another sip, the Admiral swallowing and tugging on his collar, the silence getting to him. "While, errr...While none of our members fit all the needs, we could assemble a team to fill each role, but that becomes cumbersome, and draws attention." Ja'on spoke for the first time, still pacing, "And a Sith Lord would not?" He didn't look at the image of the military man, who shifted uncomfortably. "No, not the same way, M'Lord, nor to the same degree." This made the Sith pause. "House Bathera is, as mentioned, a lesser house, but behind the Empire. They have not had much glory, but have been consistent with results. A Sith, even A Dark Lord, would not be an excessive asset to them from the Empire."

Ja'on finally stopped, turning and looking at the Admiral for the first time. "Are you suggesting the Sith are troops for the Empire to use and deploy as you see fit?" His voice took a dangerously cool edge, and the Admiral actually broke his posture, hand coming up fast. "Not at all M'Lord! I simply mean that, should the Empire, or the Emperor Himself, deem a Sith Lord to be valuable to House Bathera, none would question it on Alderaan. Their loyalty is unwavering, and consistent with production and information!" The glass was on the console now, both hands on the holoterminal. "And yet not two minutes ago, you suggested that we could drive them to the Republic, Admiral. Which is it?"

The Admiral swallowed hard, paling. "They are loyal, M'Lord! I meant that if we brought our forces down, and forced the issue, broke down their complications, other houses may look poorly, and their own politics would drive them to turn their backs on us." Ja'on nodded, softly, leaning back away from the terminal, retaking his glass. "Why do you contact me then? Why not Intelligence? A lesser Sith?" Seeing the possible rage pulled away from him, the Admiral resumed his normal posture. "Intelligence has a great lacking of worthwhile agents for this particular need. And we contacted the Council," this made Ja'on pause, "And you were recommended." He looked back up at the admiral, the question he had unvoiced. "By Dread Lord Bathar, enthusiastically I may add, M'Lord. He said, and I am quoting here, "Take our Hand, Admiral. He is uniquely suited for this task, after all, and will be most efficacious in attaining the results." He was very, pleasant when speaking with me." Ja'on nodded, sighing, "Of course he was. Does the asset itself involve the council, Admiral?" The projection shook his head, "Beyond the fact that our forces serve the Sith, M'Lord? No. It is weapons and supplies, but not just a single gun or warhead. Schematics, prototypes, and the like."

Ja'on sighed, lips pursed, "M'Lord, if I may?" This drew Ja'on’s curiosity, who nodded. "Lord Bathar did say what I said, as well as how he said it. But, after, Lord Raskar sent me a missive. She suggests, in it, that your history is the reason Lord Bathar recommended you, both as a test and the benefit of you being on the surface." Ja'on took a slow, deep breath, and finally nodded. "Very well Admiral. I will make way there now."

Six hours later, the Jade Eagle streaked through the Alderaanian afternoon sky, approaching Rhu Caenus. R7 beeped softly, as Ja'on's face was hard-set as the dock came into view. "It's ok R7. Not my first time back." The ship landed gently, the Sith in the bedroom, dressing. Formal robes, traditional styled, black with silver trim and a maroon interior. He slid his feet into the soft leather boots, sighing. An inquisitive whistle, "Just used to the rigidity of the armor, is all." He stood, taking his saber, slotting it to his belt, he finally stepped off the loading ramp. He was met with guards, from House Thul, nodding to them in greeting. "Are you heading to the house, Sir Sith?" Ja'on responded with a friendly tone, an easy smile on his lips. "Of course, it would be improper for me to visit Alderaan without at least presenting myself to the Lord." The guards looked at each other, surprise in their minds that a Sith, of any stature, would know that simple aspect of courtesy that all on Alderaan knew.

Ja'on watched the two, the smile still on his face, before the two nodded. They led him from the landing dock to the entrance of the spaceport, and gave him directions. He followed them through the town, and finally reached the Thranta wrangler. The large, manta-ray like creatures that lazily flew through the air had been a source of transportation for years. Ja'on approached a ready beast, stroking its head, before reaching the saddle. Taking the reins, he nudged his heels into the creature's side, and it took to the air.

He mused, quietly, at the serene landscape, even though he felt the turmoil. The insect-like Killiks spreading, the houses trying to keep them contained. This house sending assassins after that house's such and such. The nobles, far worse than any Sith when it came to grudges, always vying for position, power, and wealth. And yet, above that, they always kept up appearances, showing the honor, dedication, and pleasant show of being who they were. It was petty, and a waste of time. With the Sith, at least, when one wanted something from another, they either tried to get it through nice means, or just took it and consequences be damned. He steered the Thranta to the right, starting the descent to land in House Thrul's courtyard. The handler on site came up as Ja'on came to a comfortable stop, and hopped down, the keeper feeding the creature. "Forgive me for saying, M'Lord-Sith, but that is, by far, some of the best handling I've seen! Better than some of our residents, and the best of any off-worlder!" Ja'on gave a soft smirk, nodding his head, stroking the beast's back. "Just have a knack."

He turned and approached the House proper, entering. A seneschal approached quickly, "M'Lord-Sith, I am Athus of House Thul." He was polite to a fault but there was an...edge. Irritation in his voice, tension in his body. Before he could continue, Ja'on spoke softly, "Well met, Athus. If you would please, announce Darth Junath to the Lord, present to assist House Bethera with ongoing conflicts, at the behest of the Empire." The seneschal froze at the information, all the information he would have had to ask for in fact, his eyes narrowing at the Sith, before nodding, "Of course, M'Lord-Sith." He led Ja'on through the halls to the main meeting hall, opening the door, showing the room busy with a dozen or so bodies, and Elana Thul, Lady of the House, on a raised dais entertaining her guests. Arthus stopped at the door, as Ja'on stepped through, calling loudly, and confidently, "Announcing Darth Junath, to see Lady Elana Thul, present to the House to assist House Bathera, at behest of the Empire!"

Ja'on walked up the carpet as the heads all turned. He felt...no tasted the fear. All saw him as a threat. Power they could only dream of coursing through his body. Some were attracted to it, others wanting distance, and more still wanting to use him. Lady Elana rose her head at the announcement, her eyes on the Sith as the walked up, eyebrow arching quickly. Unlike many other Sith, Ja'on was not acting mystically, hands tucked in his robe sleeves, or cowl up. He was tall, shoulders back, an easy gait, his bearing almost military. When fifteen feet from the dais, he stopped, bowing deeply at the waist, and further. Most only needed to bend halfway down normally, their head below the Lady's lap at that, but due to his height, Ja'on needed to dip further. "It is an honor, Lady," he said, and then just held as she watched. She blinked rapidly, shock in her mind of his knowledge of their customs, before responding, "And it is my pleasure." He rose at that, feet spreading just about shoulder width, right hand clasped over left in front of his waist.

Lady Elana smiled warmly at the display, a soft titter in her voice, "Darth Junath is it? I had heard some months ago, you had become the Dark Council’s hand. Why would you come to us in such a fashion? Those are the true Dark Lords, after all." He nodded deferently, "I had, My Lady, but that title is within the Sith. I would not consider insulting the nobility of Alderaan by using such a title here." He felt the surge of approval from those gathered, Elana included, including some developing a quick sense of superiority. Elana waved, and a servant came over, with a glass of wine on a tray, "Please, then, Darth Junath, drink, be well met, and please tell me what brings you to Our home?" As Ja'on glanced at the wine, he shook his head, hand coming up to decline, and felt the appreciation suddenly shift. As always, favor on Alderaan was fickle.

Before he could speak, a cool tone had entered Elana's voice, "Sir," there went his title and name, "It IS customary to drink when the Lord or Lady of a House offers." He looked to her, his smile still warm, soft, "It is, but it is also customary to be served a lighter, white wine. It shows trust, open arms, and a welcome to the House, as well as being much harder to poison or taint, because of discoloration. While I know that most Imperial officers and dignitaries prefer the stronger head of a deep red, as well as the fuller flavor, reds are saved for hostilities. So I understand the desire to be amicable and accommodating to off-world guests, it still would suggest, however innocently, that there are hostilities or subterfuge. And," he chuckles softly, a cold edge now entering his voice, "we all know House Thul would not be suggesting either to the Empire." Elana paled at the now evidently intimate knowledge the Sith in front of her had of Alderaanian politics, customs, and so much more.

Lady Elana started to piece an idea together as the soft rustle of whispers started, and she spoke, "Of course not, Darth Junath! As you said, most Imperial dignitaries visiting prefer the Thul Red, and I had assumed as such for even yourself." The servant had all but run off, and Ja'on picked up the knowledge that he would be punished for the affront and breach of etiquette. "House Thul benefits a great deal with the partnership with the Empire, and the Dark Council, and I would be a true fool to even suggest that anything other than open trust were in this House. Forgive my indiscretion." _"He knows. He kriffing KNOWS our customs and rules!"_ Ja'on nodded, all but bowing again, "No offense taken, My Lady, and forgive the suggestion." _"And too polite! He's either too weak to be a threat, or too strong. No. No that's not it. That...."_ By now, the servant was back, and Ja'on took the glass, sipping from it, savoring the flavor as he softly inhaled the aroma, then swallowing. "My thanks for the drink, My Lady."

She nodded, her right hand waving palm up over her lap. He broke the soft posture, stepping up closer, finishing right before the first step. _"He does know. And it's practiced."_ A second sip, "My Lady, House Bathera is, as we know, loyal to true order in the galaxy." She nodded, resting her chin on her left hand, elbow on the chair as he spoke, giving him her undivided attention, her mind racing. "It has come to the Empire's attention that there are, complications with some of their goings-on. Since they are dedicated to the Empire, the Empire has offered to assist with the problems the House is suffering. And," he rose his left hand, fingertips up, as though to stop her, "House Bathera does not feel that their issues are worth bothering House Thul over, as it would distract your own projects by diverting men or resources to help."

Lady Elana nodded, smile on her lips, "May I say, Darth Junath, you are quite eloquent, well spoken, and your knowledge of our customs is astonishingly deep." He chuckled softly, "My thanks, My Lady. It was why I was chosen. While the Empire could create a team of multiple individuals to assist, it would have become cumbersome. Armed troops, a diplomat, a scholar, and who knows what else they will need. With my knowledge, and of course skill, I can fill multiple roles at once." Lady Elana smiled even brighter, "And you do, I must say. As for the wine," she started, a little fear in her tone now, before he shook his head, "Think nothing of it. And your servant did their job admirably. But, knowing the customs, it did leave a shadow of question, I hope you understand?" _"Gracious and even making my own apology into one of his, to save MY face. Is he a noble? How old is he...."_ Her thoughts raced as she gazed at him. "Well, Darth Junath, please inform Arthus if you have any needs, and We will ensure they are fulfilled." She reached out with her right hand, and he approached, taking a knee as he shifted the glass from right to left, tenderly taking her finger tips, touching his forehead to them, before rising. With no signet, a kiss would have been inappropriate, and he knew that much as well. "My thanks, Lady Elana, and I will ensure to remember that. If it pleases, however, I shall take my leave and present myself to House Bathera." She nodded, before he took two steps back, turning, and headed out of the hall, taking one last sip of his wine, leaving the glass with another servant, and stepped into the dusk air.

A scowl was on his lips, feeling the buzzing behind him. Three noble ladies wanted him in their bed chambers, only one because of his appearance and manners, the other two for the thought of being with that power. Two men were republic informants. Two women and four men wanted him dead, for the attacks Alderaan had suffered during the open war in spite of belonging to Imperial-sympathetic families. The last man was terrified and had been ready to bolt. Out in the clear air, the breeze coming from the mountains, the scent of sap and leaves washing over him, he faltered, for just a moment. Shaking his head, however, he made his way out of the courtyard, passed the barracks, the servant's quarters, a library. So much show for so little. He stopped at the gates out into the plains, one of the guards coming over quickly. Ja'on had his datapad out, a map of the surface around them on the display. A quick conversation, and he had the location of House Bathera, and started his trek on foot towards his destination.

The sun had long set, the moon high in the sky as he finally reached House Bathera. By comparison to the Great Houses, it was a shack. Sure, a shack with a fully functional biochemical lab, barracks for eighty troops, garage for two dozen vehicles and droid repair bay, twelve assault class siege droids, the family itself, and twenty servants. Ja'on entered the gate, these guards too stressed to pay him mind, beyond a nod to acknowledge, as he moved to the house proper. Their butler was waiting, "Seneschal Arthus called ahead, we have been awaiting your arrival, M'Lord." Ja'on let his gaze rest on the man, who offered a soft nod, "House Bathera is, if I may be so bold, more vested in the Empire, M'Lord. While I may not address your proper title as a Sith Lord before any of the Nobles, I will not neglect it in private." Ja'on shook his head, laughing softly. "Fine. Have a name?"

The butler’s chest rose in pride, his own smile matching Ja'on's. "Threed, M'Lord." Ja'on nodded, "Threed. A pleasure. So, before I meet The Jackal, tell me." The two started through the halls, slow pace. "We have six different issues, four of which are tied to the same. The fifth issue relates to Killiks, and the last, is our biggest issue." Ja'on nodded, "The four in one deal?" Threed shook his head, "Two of our exterior labs overrun by off worlders. No offense!" Ja'on shook his head, "None taken. What kind?" They were at the door now, "Best The Lord tell you." He pushed open the door, the dining room and meeting hall. The table was laden with food, and the family was eating. The Jackal himself, Lord Jaxus, his wife and their infant daughter, his wife's brother, his wife, and their daughter. All looked at him, only Jaxus himself rising to greet the Sith.

Ja'on looked at the man, smile still on his lips, but went over the memory of his file. Jaxus was bloodthirsty, and power hungry. He had been responsible for several non-noble families being wiped out for land, money, or information. His deals normally were underhanded and overbearing, but he had mellowed after meeting his wife. Settling for the stable instead of glory. It lessened the pull he had, but it was worthwhile for him. He had thrown behind the Empire early on, seeing the opportunity, but also wanted the muscle. His title was enough to keep his family safe, but the Empire gave him some pull, and his family's backing of House Thul gave them strength with the rest of the lower houses. Jaxus was smiling, and Ja'on picked up the true pleasure he felt as seeing the Sith, tinged with fear. "Darth Junath, my thanks on your coming! Please, let me apologize!" Ja'on shook his head, waving his hand, "No need, Lord Jaxus! We understand well the nature of Alderaan, and that your hold ups are not intentional. I have been sent, specifically to assist. There is no subterfuge, nor punishment. I was simply easier to dispatch than a full team."

At his calm explanation, Jaxus relaxed, and his wife let go a held-back sob, relief flooding her. Jaxus's niece was skeptical, but hopeful. "Threed explained Killiks have one piece of the latest shipment, and off worlders have two of your labs under their control." Jaxus nodded, "So, tell me about those first." Jaxus's brother in law rose, "If I may, Darth Junath. One lab is our medical research, testing front line medications, developing new delivery methods. The tech we have there is, of course, a new synthetic version of kolto, and then an area dispersal delivery system to get it over multiple troops. The off worlders there are trying to replicate our information, willing to take it by force. Refugees from one planet or another, besieged by wildlife. And they can't afford normal medications." Ja'on nodded, murmuring, "A diplomatic handling would be best." The other man continued, "The other is...more offensive. We have a new capacitor firing system for blasters, on contract from a newer small arms developer. We also have improved EMP grenades. That is taken by, of all things, pirates."

Ja'on took all the information, when Jaxus's wife spoke up, "M'Lord-Sith, are you not taking notes?" She was afraid of him, his power. But the casual way he was listening, she wasn't sure if he didn't care, was nearly a droid in his mental capabilities, or something else entirely. She reached out, in spite of her fear, to try and humanize the man before her, who put her husband's frame to shame in size, and the presence it carried. Ja'on laughed, "One advantage of the Force, Lady Bathera. I can recall information I desire easily. Without that, I would have to take notes or have a droid." She smiled at the ease he spoke with her, and he felt Jaxus's mood rise. The fear that the Empire was going to hurt them was a very real thought in the entire family. "As for the labs, those will be easy enough to handle." He pulled his datapad out, handing it to Threed, "If you would place their locations on my map, as well as the Killik hive that is harassing that asset." Threed nodded, and started, as Jaxus started, "They have expanded to our third factory. A new turbo-laser for freighter class and higher ships. New power relays, more efficient."

Ja'on nodded to this, "And the biggest." This drew a wave of discomfort across the board from every member in the room. Jaxus licked his lips, "Schematics for a ship. House Alde has locked our transports down, due to road tax tolls that are unpaid. We wish to have a diplomatic result with them, just due to the size of the House, and power of the Family." Ja'on nodded, lips pursed. Allied with House Organa, strong, powerful. "I have only had one ambassador make it to their House, and he was run off. I wish to broker a fair deal," Jaxus looked to his wife and child, a pain of fear of loss strong from him. Ja'on nodded, "To the point of losing, so long as you have your transports free of harassment." It wasn't a question, just an observational statement of fact. Lord Jaxus nodded, not looking at the Sith, expecting to be cut down. He jumped as Ja'on rested his hand on the man's shoulder, turning at the Sith's voice, "I fully understand, Lord Jaxus. I will be glad to broker such a deal."

Ja'on was shown to a guest room for the rest of the night, after joining the family in their meal. During their dinner, he conversed with them, asking about weather, the tributes from the commoners, harvest, and wines. He was asked about the Force, which he kept simple in explanation but was still forthcoming, some of the other planets he had visited, and about Azmi. This drew a cloud over his pleasant mood, his response almost curt, "I'd rather not discuss that. Suffice to say my title as Avenger of Azmi is well founded." Everyone was quiet for a moment, before Jaxus's niece asked for a show of the Force. The adults all were shocked, but Ja'on just laughed, raising his right hand. First, the plates of food rearranged themselves, floating up into the air and landing. Then the decanter of wine stayed in place, while the fluid itself snaked out of the spout, flowing through the air to refill her mother's glass. Finally, the niece herself was lifted, and deposited in the seat to her side.

Thinking of the evening, Ja'on shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. While he held little in mind for the Nobility, the near innocent interest in him, and his abilities, was refreshing. He felt the others of the House falling asleep. Niece excited and bouncing, TRYING to lift her toys in the air. Brother in law and wife comforting each other, knowing the raw power and risk staying in the house, but consoled by the affable nature. Wife and daughter asleep, while Jaxus sat on the bed, worry on his mind. He had promised the assets weeks ago. Even if Ja'on put on a friendly face, could he be trusted? The Sith, rested his hand on the wall, leaning, head down, swallowing, "I'm sorry."

In the morning, he awoke, showered, and dressed, awake before any but the servants. He found Threed, and picked up the sense of wonder. "M'Lord," the butler greeted warmly as Ja'on made his way into the kitchens, the few servants and cooks scrambling to their feet, as the Sith waved his hand, laughing softly. "Please, don't. Enjoy your meals. I'd feel like a heel if I made you all serve just me some breakfast. Is that Vorn steak?" He felt the shock as he identified the meat by smell so quickly, his smile broadening as the cook nodded. "If you don't mind, would you make me one, medium rare, salted?" The servants looked at each other as a piece of the puzzle fell into place for Threed, whose face scrunched as he regarded the Sith.

After finishing eating, "Threed, I will handle the House Alde issue first, should the Lord ask." He took his plate to the sink, washing it deftly and setting it with the rest of the dirty dishes ready for the cleaner, turning to face the butler. "I know it may seem counterproductive, considering the factories are all overrun, but the Killik aren't exactly cruel, and the pirates and refugees simply don't have the resources to abscond with what they are after yet. I have time, and would rather deal with this issue first, so it's not the last one waiting." The butler nodded, regarding the Sith with a perplexed expression. "Forgive me, M'Lord, but...you just remind me of someone." The Sith laughed, and shook his head, "Don't fret, Threed. I'm not THAT easily offended, but you SHOULD apologize to whoever I remind you of." He winked playfully at the man, and stepped out into the early morning air.

He followed the foot paths through the plains and woods towards the edge of House Alde's territory, aware of the assassin House Rist had place on his tail, knowing they were to watch, and ensure he was only working for Bathera. The pride of Manka Cats regarding him from the woods. The herd of Nerf down in the valley grazing. The patrol from House Organa. Finally, he approached one of the rest stations the Houses that followed Organa used, the guards there noticing his approach, scrambling to meet him.

The half-dozen guards stopped thirty feet away from him, weapons drawn. He could feel their fear, their bravado, confusion. The lead yelled, even though Ja'on stopped soon as they saw him, "Stop! You are entering the lands of House Alde, Sith! Return to where you have come from!" Ja'on just gave his soft, warm smile, hands coming up, palms facing the guards. He ALMOST looked like he was surrendering, but called out, "I am not here as Sith. I am acting ambassador for House Bathera, on mission to broker a deal with House Alde, in regards to the unpaid road taxes, and return of assets." The guards' confusion spiked at the easy words, the RIGHT words. The lead was not put off, "No, you are Sith! None would ever lower themselves to just an ambassador! Now leave!"

Now, a coolness entered Ja'on's voice, "You are in violation of protocol and custom, Leftenant! I am an announced ambassador, here on Noble business. You have no base to claim I am otherwise, nor the right." The other guards looked at each other now, nervous because they knew he was right. The lead still wasn't put off, "And why should we believe that?! How do we know you're not here to attack?!" Ja'on never broke eye contact, but extended his right arm, and all the men looked. There was a boulder, approximately twice as tall as a man, and three times across, made of a dense mineral. "Because," Ja'on responded as he clenched his fist, and all could hear the crunching noise, the rock malforming, before he released his grip, the now fine dust collapsing, "If I was here on the offense, I would not be talking."

Ja'on lowered his arm, the men all turning back to him. That confusion, apprehension, all now had the sharp spike of fear. He slowly approached, right hand taking saber in hand, his voice even, firm, "Now, again, I announce myself as an Ambassador of House Bathera, en route to House Alde, to broker a deal. You have two choices, Leftenant," his eyes locked on the lead, the men all trembling. "You can either acknowledge my station as announced, and do your duty as a sworn officer in service to a Great House, and allow passage or even set an escort." At ten feet from the men, Ja'on stopped, voice dropping to a growl as his lightsaber hissed to life, "Or you can attack, resulting in me defending myself, before relaying later to House Thul your incompetence, which will be brought before the Royal Council." He made no other movements, the five men's eyes locked on the beam of silver light, the officer unable to tear his gaze away from the Sith.

Finally, the guard lowered his weapon, the others following suit. Once all six barrels were pointed at the ground, the lightsaber hissed off, hilt back on Ja'on's belt. The officer spoke, his voice higher pitched, shaking, "We will, of course, allow your passage, ambassador." He looked at the other men, and Ja'on felt the fear from them, and the remaining guards from the outpost, not a single one of them wished to be near the Sith. "If you would please wait here, we will call for a proper escort from House Alde." A reasonable request, Ja'on nodded, smile back on face, warmth in his voice, "Of course, Leftenant." He strode past the men into the little station, before finding a comfortable chair, sitting and leaning back, at ease and relaxed.

As Ja'on rested, he felt the civilians around him. They saw the lightsaber and black robes, many had sensations of apprehension. None came to him, but as the minutes went on, they stopped avoiding him at the same time. Minus the lightsaber, he had every appearance of an ambassador, or even a lesser noble, waiting on protocol to be adhered to. Their thoughts flitted through his mind easily, many making up stories as to why he was there. After almost thirty minutes, he heard the whine of a repulsor, eyes opening as he saw a speeder pull up to the station. The lieutenant ran over, meeting his superior.

Too far to hear, Ja'on was able to feel their emotions, though the distance and crowd created too much noise to pinpoint the two men's. The lieutenant was nervous, fearful. Part was from Ja'on, the other his superior...and above. The Sith tilted his head a fraction at picking that up, lips drawing thin at the response from the superior. Apprehension of the Sith, but a cool respect for how the situation was handled, and Ja'on's adherence to the traditions. This was all tinted with fear from the House, before resignation.

The new man came over to where Ja'on was sitting, the Sith standing as the guard came to a halt. "I am Alvond, Captain of the Guard for House Alde. You are the ambassador from House Bathera?" Ja'on nodded in response, then offered a short, polite bow, "Darth Junath, representative and speaker for Lord Jaxus Bathera, yes." The apprehension from Alvon was reduced, in regards to the Sith, though the concern from those he worked for spiked. "Very well met, Ser Ambassador. Please, follow me?" Alvond led Ja'on back to the speeder, another individual piloting the craft.

The two men climbed into the back, and with a soft whine, the speeder started the smooth ride towards the House. Alvond was tense, hand resting threateningly close to his blaster, as Ja'on spoke. "So, Captain Alvond, I must ask a favor. As we know, the ambassador themselves cannot be armed when requesting audience, or during negotiations." The man gave him a look, and Ja'on felt the fear of duplicity growing, before making eye contact, "I am asking that you, and no one else, take possession of my lightsaber upon entering the hall." All the thoughts in the other man's head ground to a halt, and recognition of what was being asked slowly realized.

Alvond regarded Ja'on for a long minute, "Are you, actually, asking me to bear and secure your weapon?" The Sith nodded, "If you would, anyway." The guard was still trying to process the request, before nodding. This drew a smile from Ja'on, "My thanks." They made the rest of the trip in relative silence, Ja'on's eyes drawn to the mountains in the distance, a specific peak. Alvond finally realized this, chin lifted to acknowledge the mountain, "That range is," starting a spiel that many knew or had heard, before the Sith spoke, his voice tight, "I'm familiar." Alvond and even the driver were startled by the new tone, and fell into silence. Finally, they approached the gates to House Alde, the speeder slowing to a halt, the captain and Sith disembarking.

Ja'on, voice warm again, "How is Count Alde these days?" Alvond looked over, "Out, on business. His nephew has been leading the house in his absence, but The Count is well." A soft nod from the Sith, before they were at the doors to the greeting hall. The House's own seneschal pushed the door open, Alvond announcing this time, "Captain Alvond, Captain of the Guard of House Alde, escorting Darth Junath, Ambassador of House Bathera, presenting now to the House and Lord!" This room was filled with at least two...no three dozen people, all walks of life. Servants with wine and trays of food, visiting nobles, members of the family. Ja'on took one step in and stopped, as all eyes fell on him. The room, which had been bustling, froze at his appearance.

He slowly reached to his belt, taking his lightsaber in hand. However, instead of gripping the hilt itself, his palm was around the emitter and focusing lens. As he unhooked the weapon, he turned and offered it, pommel first, to Alvond, who took it, before Ja’on also pulled out his blaster, fingers never touching trigger or guard, handing that over pommel first, the two bowing at the exchange. Ja'on then turned, and started to approach the stage that Lord Pratus was on, with a few of the guests. Ja'on's eyes drifted over the faces, then felt...something, his eyes moving to the stage. Each of the faces was on him, fear or disgust expressed, save one.

Her red skin was complimented by the gown she was wearing, almost off the shoulders, with a soft plunge of the neckline, a soft blue, with violet accents showing her figure without being revealing or lewd. Her lek'ku was up, around her neck, but that was no surprise, though the tiara, necklace, and spider-web like bracers trailing to a ring over her right middle finger were. Ja'on froze, for a moment as he and Pimm locked gazes, his breath forgotten at her sight, her face tilting down and lips vanishing between her teeth as she sensed his awe.

To the two Force sensitives, it was a long moment, though the pause lasted less than a second, the Sith finishing his trek up to Lord Pratus, stopping twenty feet from the stage, and he felt Pimm's shot of surprise as he took a knee, kneeling before the nobleman. He remained silent as Pratus regarded him, the room deathly still. "What causes you to stain my family's house doorstep with your shadow?" he asked, and Ja'on could feel the proverbial hackles rise at the disrespect Pratus was showing from Pimm, though her face remained neutral. Ja'on did not rise, but his voice was calm and warm, "I am here, at the behest of Lord Jaxus Bathera, as ambassador and sanctioned speaker, in proposed works between the Houses." Pimm blinked at the words, seeing Ja'on humble. He felt her realize, humble wasn't right. Nor was deferant, but professional, diplomatic. Lord Pratus just laughed, coldly, "And why would I allow a Sith speak for another in my presence?" At this, Ja'on rose, feeling the general sense of amusement in the hall at his expense. "Because, Lord Pratus, my patron asked me to come as an ambassador. Not an enforcer." His smile was still warm, his voice gentle, but not a single person missed the implied threat.

Pratus swallowed, dryly, face paling a few shades, even though the Sith was as pleasant as he had been. When the acting Count found his voice, it was strained, "That may be, ambassador, but you have no weight with any House." A murmur went through the crowd now, and Ja'on could feel the unease growing, the repeated insults from Pratus bordering ignoble. Ja'on tilted his head a bit, halfway between a nod and a shake, "With respect, M'Lord, I have weight, honor, and clout with House Thul. They authorized me to speak on the behalf of House Bathera, as well as any other roles needed." The shock and awe was continuing to grow around him as he maintained the calm demeanor, the polite tone, and never outright denying Pratus, quickly putting the Noble at the disadvantage. Pursing his lips, the youngish man leaned forward in his seat, "What I mean to say, is you have no weight with THIS House, without a missive."

This was a valid point, and Ja'on just regarded the nobleman for a moment, feeling the room. Many were impressed with his patience, others with his diplomatic skills, in spite of the uphill battle he was waging. One....a woman. Late teens, he felt her anger as she stared at him, memories of a House in flames, screams of pain and death around her. Her spite for the Empire was focused on the Sith for now, in spite of how much she hated her Uncle. _"Ah."_ She was closer to Count Alde, but too young to act in his stead, hence her older relation. Ja'on spoke finally, "Lord Pratus, if I may be permitted," before he was cut off, "You may not. You will leave, and not return to Us until a missive has been ratified declaring you as ambassador is sent to Us." The room was a rustle of whispers, the demand of Pratus too far, even for those that wanted the Sith to leave. Calmly, Ja'on spoke, "Then I demand Trial for Honor."

If the room froze when the Sith first entered, then it died now, absolute silence. Every mind was shocked that a Sith, an offworlder would know of that tradition. Even Pratus was shocked into silence for a long moment as Ja'on stared him down. Only Pimm's thoughts showed she had no clue what was demanded. Ja'on broke the freeze by repeating himself. "If I am being denied for a lack of weight with the House, and being demanded of a ratified missive declaring my authority, then I invoke the right of Trial for Honor." The room was abuzz with noise now, Pimm still confused, but picking up that it would somehow let Ja'on speak. Pratus finally found his voice, "You have invoked your demand, however I am under no obligation to honor it, yet. House Alde and House Bathera are not on friendly terms, ambassador."

Ja'on nodded, turning to address the room now, "Lord Pratus, Acting Head of House Alde is correct. He does not have to honor my demand, as the situation lays, unless a Lord or Lady is willing to sponsor me. I am Darth Junath, Right Hand of the Dark Council. Regardless of my station within the Sith Order, and the Imperial forces, I am not here for Galactic reasons, but to act as speaker and ambassador between Houses, representing House Bathera. My Patron wishes a truly amicable result of any discussions, and my only endeavor is to do Him and His House just service. With that stated, is there a Lord or Lady who would be my Sponsor?" The room had fallen back to an uncomfortable silence as his blue eyes scanned each face. Finally, soft, almost timid, as though unsure it should be voiced, "I do." The entire room turned its attention to Pimm.

Pratus puffed up his chest, and Ja'on picked up thoughts. The noble thought Pimm was unfit to be in her current role, and should be a servant. From her, Ja'on realized Pratus had tried that, unsuccessfully, and her apprehension at speaking out in this moment. "With due respect, Master Jedi, but you are not..." Ja'on felt the words forming on Pimm's tongue, when he reached out, _"No. Not like that. Square your shoulders, lift your chin. Do not break eye contact."_ She responded as he directed, he felt her trepidation at first, but realized he was guiding her as Pratus finished, "A noble, therefore do not have the right to speak." _"Pimm, raise your right hand, no, don't spread your fingers. Chest high, palm towards you. Good."_ She was complying, the telepathic thoughts reaching her as she moved, and Ja'on felt from her a raise in her heartbeat, her thoughts being of him right behind her, guiding her actions to act the part of the Noble. Other thoughts teetered on the edge, but she was focused on this moment, right now. _"Very good. Now, chin up, just a hair more. Repeat after me."_

Pimm finally spoke, "With no respect earned, Lord Pratus, you are not only wrong, but grossly insulting. While I may, in fact, be a Jedi and an offworlder," Ja'on felt her nervousness growing as all eyes were on her, "I am more than in my rights to speak in this matter. This signet shows me, not as a dignitary, nor as a visitor, but instead shows me as an envoy of House Organa. As such, I have been, temporarily, given the title of Lady of House Organa, with all privileges, rights," she now lowered her hand and straightened her spine just that last half inch, "And authorities that come with such rank. I know this man, and can speak for his honor, and as such, do declare to sponsor him." Ja'on couldn't hide his smile at her bearing, her ability to follow his directions so smoothly. He hadn't pulled himself away fully before the reflexive, _"Good girl. Excellently presented."_

He saw the red deepen on her cheeks, and heard the mental squeak at the term, before he realized what he had done, his mind apologizing quickly, but her own thoughts waved it off. Finally Pratus spoke, his jaw and voice tight, "Very well. Darth Junath, I am forced to acknowledge your Trial. However, you are Sith. None in House Alde are Force Users." He turned to Ja'on now, a dark grin on his face, "As such, any trial will be tainted, and I refuse to all," but Ja'on cut him off, "A neural inhibitor." There was a murmuring, and Ja'on felt the wave from those who knew of the device, the confusion from those who didn't, and the spike of spite from Pimm, then the instant realization. Pratus wasn't going to be dissuaded from his point, "Regardless, Ambassador, I simp..."

He was cut off again, this time by his niece, "What is a neural inhibitor?" Pratus turned to chastise her, but Ja'on spoke up, "A neural inhibitor is a device, normally either a tiara or a collar, that when activated, disrupts the brain's ability to function, inhibiting the neurons from firing. For non-Force sensitive people, it makes them completely docile, unable to function. Even some Force Users are incapacitated, though with proper tuning, all it will do is remove the ability to use the Force." He turned his attention to Pratus now, "And I am offering to willingly be put in one." He felt the sickening wave of pleasure at this opportunity from the Lord, "Very well, then our medics wi...." But, he was, once again, interrupted, "No. I will be ensuring the neural inhibitor is tuned correctly," Pimm giving Pratus a death-glare, having picked up his intent as well. Backed into a corner, in front of so many witnesses, Pratus finally threw his right hand up in the air in disgust, "Fine. In four hours."

A half hour later, Ja'on was in his waiting room, as a soft knock announced her, before the door opened and Pimm stepped in. Ja'on felt her still in a huff over Pratus's behavior, and was specifically not looking at the box she held, as though it were a viper. Their eyes met for a moment, before she finished entering the room, the door closing behind her. "Thank you, Pimm," Ja'on started before she could even finish approaching him. "I know it was not the most pleasant thing to speak up, and vouch for me. I want you to know I appreciate it." It was her turn to freeze, and he felt the respect she had for him grow, just a little more. She put the box on a desk, a communicator in her hand. She couldn't reach his eyes with hers, turmoil growing. "Ar...are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it's frightening to have one of those on. It..." she just shook her head, and he took the couple steps to come close.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, comfortingly, and though his voice was tight, it was calm, "It won't be the first time." She looked up at him now, and he saw the flashes of what she assumed would be why, ranging from training or punishment for the Sith, to wanting to be on equal terms with Mira, at least once. His smile showed nothing of him seeing those errant thoughts, nor the real reasons behind his statement. "I'll be fine, so long as it is tuned right. You know how?" She shook her head, almost laughing, "No. No I don't." She placed the communicator on the desk, finger ready to activate it. "Please...." she didn't even know how to ask her question, just looking at him. He smiled, and nodded, before she pulled the inhibitor out of the box. It was tiara shaped, leading to a small box that would mount to his neck for the power source and the program that ran the field it would emit. Finally, she pressed the button.

A moment later, the holographic projection of Serah appeared, at first smiling at Pimm, then noticed the inhibitor in her hands, then Ja'on standing next to her. Her entire demeanor changed, in an instant. Pimm had seen this a few times since her rescue, the first was DURING her rescue. Serah's entire body went tight, smile gone, and looked as though she were ready to leap through the projector. "Padawan! What are you doing with that? Why is HE there? I knew that this," "Master please," "this entire mission was a bad," "MASTER PLEASE, listen!" "idea from the very get go! You hadn't had," "Serah, please listen to me!" "enough time to recover and now that...that..." The two trying to talk over each other. Seeing the distress both were suffering, he finally spoke, "Jedi Master Ferrowlah, it is an honor to be speaking to you." His voice was calm, pleasant, and as Pimm's eyes turned to him, he knew she could tell the difference. In the hall, he had been diplomatic. Here...he was sincere. And something in that tone broke through to Serah as well, who stopped talking, just looking at him.

Ja'on continued, addressing Serah directly, not ignoring Pimm, but was giving his attention to the one he was talking to. "It is truly an honor. I understand you are Jedi Pimm's Master, and have heard of some of your work during the active war, and that since the Treaty was signed. I know, we are enemies," Serah nodded to this, "But that does not mean we must be hostile. I know that you know your padawan and I have had multiple encounters." Serah's face tightened, her lips thinning, but she stayed silent as he continued, "And that, for the most part, those encounters have been affable. I can fully, and truly, understand your concerns about her having repeated contact with a Sith Lord. However, if I may," he tilted his head, and was going to continue regardless of what Serah said, "this discussion is not one that should be had in front of me. Not for any reasons involving me, but just by my proximity, it may influence her actions." Serah nodded to his, face softening. "I do not wish to be a major point of contention between the two of you," it was Pimm's turn to look down, her appreciation of him speaking growing, "So I will be brief with this."

"I have currently been appointed Ambassador for House Bathera, to negotiate with House Alde. Lord Pratus is being, well, a nerf-herder. House Alde has the advantage over House Bathera, so he has certain rights to deny me, and Lord Jaxus, access. However, he is vastly overstepping his authority, but there is nothing I can do about it, except invoke one right. I have done so, a trial for honor. The only problem with this, is that I am Sith, and any trial I perform could be tainted by the Force." Serah's eyes went to the inhibitor now, then back to Ja'on, "So, as such, I requested a neural inhibitor to be put on me, tuned to prevent access to the Force." Serah's eyes widened at that, realizing for the first time what was going on. "However, Pimm does not know how to tune one, and I must assume you have the medical knowledge since she contacted you." Serah nodded, opening her mouth and closing it a few times, before a soft, "You really volunteered for that?" He nodded, and she seemed amazed, "Then let's begin."

Almost two and a half hours later, with Serah watching over and running her own information on her side of the projector, Pimm and Ja'on finished the work inside the inhibitor. The Sith took the inhibitor and put it on, attaching the collar to his neck. "Now, when it turns on, so long as everything is right, you will lose your ability to feel and use the Force. If we're off, however...." Serah trailed off, her concern obvious, and Ja'on knew the risk, though Pimm was fairly unaware. The twi'lek offered a soft, "However what, Master?" Serah didn't respond, and Ja'on felt Pimm's anxiety spike, so he spoke, "It'll incapacitate me." Pimm relaxed, smiling, "Oh, that's all? Not a problem." Serah finished what he didn't say, "Permanently." Before Pimm could even process that, his hand was on the switch, clicking the device on.

He could hear the hum, then a small crack as the switch melted into place, requiring the remote to disable now. Pimm's eyes went wide, "What do you," she turned to the holo projection of Serah, "What do you two mean?" Ja'on gasped, eyes wide, hands gripping the desk, a choked noise escaping his throat. His heartbeat increased, pounding in his ears, as everything went wrong, Serah's voice coming from across a great distance, "Since we tweaked the emitter field, if it was wrong. Pimm, I'm sorry, but if it's off on the settings, it could fry his synapses. Disable parts of his brain." Everything was wrong, he could see his hands, but they weren't there. Pimm's voice, underwater, "Darth Junath. Ja'on. JA'ON!" She was there, hands on his chest, face in his vision, but she didn't exist. An illusion. Hallucination. His vision paled, breath was hard to take.

His head turned, the room was wrong. Was the wall that close? That far? Pimm's hands touched him, but he couldn't feel her, just the pressure. "Ja'on, please, answer!" _"I am,"_ he cried in his mind, trying to find her, even though she was there. Serah's voice, muted, muffled, "Ja'on, listen. Breathe. Slow. Remember, this was the plan." He swallowed, shaking. Was it the plan? The...yes. Turn off the Force. Unable to feel it, see it. Pimm's voice was panicked, "What's wrong? Did...did we mess up?" Only when he reached up and took her shoulder, did she stop for a moment, his voice sounding so alien to his ears, "Imagine, Pimm, if you can. It's hard, but imagine one of your senses turning off. Like...you can see a hand touching you, but you can't feel it." He took another slow, deep breath, and relaxed, his heart coming under control, before offering Pimm a smile. She calmed down too, before he turned to the communicator, "Thank you, Master Ferrowlah. This is exactly what I was hoping for, but no amount of understanding what will happen, can truly prepare you for that loss."

The three Force users were quiet a moment, before he turned to Pimm. "Since you are my sponsor, you will be expected to attend. You will see me in an hour." The twi'lek nodded, smiling at him, before taking the communicator and leaving. A guard came, to escort him to the trial itself. Once in the waiting chamber, he was joined by Pratus, and three others. The first was the officiator, the second was a well built guard, and the third was Pratus's niece. Pratus looked at her, "Did it work?" The girl looked at him, head tilting, before nodding, and Ja'on realized, she was sensitive. "It's...wrong, uncle," before she was backhanded. "I apologize, M'Lord." To her credit, she didn't let the blow, even as her cheek glowed red, phase her. "M'Lord, it is wrong. I can see him, but I see his energy just...not work. He looks like any non-sensitive, but it's fake."

Pratus nodded, then turned and left, his niece following, but she gave Ja'on a dirty look before walking away. The officiator then called the two over, "The chosen trial for honor, is single, hand to hand combat. No weapons. And a trial for honor means you are not trying to permanently damage, nor kill, the other." Ja'on nodded, "Of course." The guard mimicked the behavior, but his face had an expression. They faced each other, Ja'on asking, "What is your preferred style? Since I am performing the trial, you choose the method." The other man nodded, "Of course. Mixed styles." His tone was guarded, and Ja'on figured he just wasn't fully believing the Sith couldn't use the Force. "As you say," the Sith responded, smiling. "Tap outs?" The guard nodded, agreeing, then the two went to their own cells to prepare.

Finally, the time came. Ja'on and the guard both left the ready room, into a small arena. The crowd was a moderate size, a few dozen people. Pratus, his niece, and Pimm were in the noble box, as the officiator called the two men over. There was a wash of noise, as both men were in a cross between a classic loin cloth, and a pair of briefs. Ja'on had looked over himself. By comparison to when he had suffered in his grief for six months, he was trimmed now. His muscles far more defined, still a little fat coating them, but the majority of definition was readily seen. This was also accented, as both men had been oiled, skin glistening in the sun. The officiator called, "Darth Junath, Ambassador to House Alde from House Bathera, called for Trial for Honor! House Alde has consented to the Trial, in hand to hand combat!" Ja'on couldn't feel the crowd, not in the normal sense, and it was bothersome, but he knew his body had drawn quite a few gazes.

"Men, salute the Lord who now hosts this Trial!" Both men snapped to attention, right hand coming up, fist clenched, placing their palms over their hearts, then thrust them up in salute to Pratus. "Salute your opponent!" At this, the two turned and faced each other, bringing their right hands to their hearts again, but this time, thumbs to chest, palms down, with a nod to each other. The wash of noise rose as the Sith executed the salutes flawlessly, smoothly, practiced. "Salute the Lord or Lady whose favor you have or seek!" The guard turned, facing a woman with her infant in the crowd, placing his open palm over his heart, bowing deeply but kept his eyes on the woman.

Ja'on, however, locked gazes with Pimm. He brought his right hand to, not his heart, but to his head, fingertips on his forehead. Instead of bowing, he took a knee in a kneel, head down, left arm straight back. The noise rose even more as the two men saluted, then rose. The niece looked at Pimm, confusion on her face, then back to the round. "The first to tap out, or fall unconscious, loses the match, but honor is to be had by both! Begin!"

The two men circled each other, slowly, shoulders moving, arms coming up and down in different offensive and defensive poses. Ja'on spoke loud enough for the guard to hear, "Thank you for meeting me here." The guard looked perplexed, but nodded. The two then came in close, fast. The guard starting on the offense, throwing multiple jabs, fast, as Ja'on fell back, his own arms deflecting the blows for two steps, then came low, left arm thrust hard, catching the man in the stomach. The guard fell back, coughing, hand on his stomach, the two still circling each other. "Echani?" Ja'on nodded. The guard came in fast and hard again, before Ja'on stepped back, sweeping the legs of the guard, and threw another punch, this one high.

The guard had anticipated this, and a flurry of motion ended with Ja'on on his back, left arm outstretched, the guard gripping the Sith's wrist against his chest, and his legs criss-crossed over Ja'on's bicep and chest. The two struggled, Ja'on clenching. There was a titter of laughter, that quickly fell to deathly silence, as the arm began to flex in spite of the guard's grip. Realizing if he didn't do something, he'd lose the advantage, he gave Ja'on a little slack, then thrust back, his waist and groin against Ja'on's elbow, and a sharp crack was heard through the arena, followed by Ja'on's scream of pain. The guard uncrossed his legs, and planted a kick in the Sith's ribs, more cracks to be heard, rolling away and coming up.

Ja'on rolled and stood himself, left arm dangling at an odd angle, elbow shattered, the massive purple and blue bruise on his chest already forming. The two regarded each other, and the guard realized something, "Why are you smiling, Sith?" Ja'on laughed, a warm noise as they began to circle again, "Because it has been a long while since I've been challenged. I'm enjoying this." The guard looked at him, any doubts of the Force being removed gone. A shuddering breath from the guard, "I was instructed to kill you." This drew another laugh, "I figured. But you won't best me that much." Both men chuckled, then came in to each other again. Instead of falling back into the Echani defensive counter, Ja'on just took two punches before his own blow landed on the guard's head, stunning him before he was bodily checked by Ja'on's shoulder, knocking him back.

The two continued the back and forth, resulting in four more blows to the guard's head. He was swaying, the repeated hits dazing him, but not enough to knock him out. "Ya...you are taking it easy." Ja'on nodded, "I don't want to hurt you." The two came in for one last clash. Ja'on took four blows to his chest and stomach, before his own blow came in. The guard dodged, grabbing on and flipping up, legs around Ja'on's head, then a vicious blow down on his left collar, yet another crack and muffled scream. The guard then continued the flip, and all thought the round was over as he had Ja'on's other arm in the same grip. But, unlike the first arm, Ja'on didn't fall on his back. Instead of fighting, he threw his own body back, jumping, and placing the guard's head and back lower than him, being smashed into the ground. He released the arm, then Ja'on brought himself over, and laid one last blow into the guard's head, knocking him out. The entire arena was quiet as Ja'on stood, panting, turning to the box. Pimm was smiling brightly, her lower lip barely sliding between her teeth as Ja'on began his salute to Pratus.

The nobleman, however, was not smiling. He made a gesture, then spoke, a PA system amplifying his voice, "As a Sith, who is guilty of murder of the citizens of Alderaan, I have you arrested." An armed guard ran behind Ja'on, Pimm's eyes going wide as the Sith looked around confused, before the stun baton was thrust into his broken ribs, eliciting a scream of agony, the large man incapacitated, falling to his knees. No one rose in anger at this, his eyes on Pimm, blackness filling his vision as she jumped the wall of the box, charging the guard, before nothingness took him.


	11. Trial on Alderaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on dealing further with the nobles, and Serah gets to know him a little better.

Ja'on woke, in pain, panicking a moment before he felt his head. The neural inhibitor was still on his forehead, preventing him from feeling the Force. He sat up, crying out in pain, his arm, collar, and ribs still broken. His arm was, at least in a brace, and realized he was not in the ready room, nor a bedroom. He was in a cell. He stood, pacing the small room, a hard bed, toilet, and the door. Soft lighting fixtures were in the wall, but transparasteel kept them safe. He went to the door, knocking on it. The slide opened, the guard outside looking in. "Quiet prisoner," before the slide closed. Ja'on began for the first time, to get mad. He had followed the traditions. He had fought with honor. He had not even held it against the guard he had faced for being instructed to kill him. He should have honor. He should be healed, and talking with Pratus. Instead, in a cell!

As he paced, he heard a noise outside, then the door opened. In brown robes, looking aged, a human woman came in, the door closing behind her. Ja'on recognized her, offering a bow, "Master FerrolOW!" he exclaimed as the Jedi, with no inhibitions, slapped him across his face, hard. "How DARE YOU!" she screamed at him. Ja'on took a step back at the woman's fury, but no fear was on his face. "THIS whole damned mess is YOUR fault! You showed up, somehow got her to speak for you, and now. Now!" She stepped up to him, thrusting a hard punch into his chest, winding him and drawing another cry of pain, him dropping to his knees. "NOW SHE'S IN A CELL TOO!" Ja'on looked up, his face starting to contort to show his anger. Serah reared back, and backhanded him across the face again. "You keep corrupting her!" A punch on his nose, blood spurting, "You keep making her crave more!" She drew her fist for another punch, but hesitated, seeing the bruised and broken man. He was still on his knees, breathing hard, anger so plain on his face, but he did nothing to defend himself. "You want to make her yours!" Serah finished, as though daring him to say something.

He stood, slowly, not breaking her gaze, though his face took a steely appearance. His voice, low, deep, hard, and strained, "You have no idea what I want, Master Ferrowlah." She looked at his body, face still hard, seeing the bruises, the broken bones, and then back up to his face. "You have no IDEA what I want, for myself or with Pimm. You want to be mad at me? I've been unconscious for I don't even know how long. WHAT do you mean she's in a cell." Something in his voice made Serah soften, though her fist was still prepared to land a punch, "She jumped down to save you. Threw the man with the stun baton off you. She was then arrested for interfering with the lawful arrest of an enemy of House Organa!" She threw another punch, and only felt his movement before her arm was in that vice-like grip of his. She looked up, shock in her eyes, realizing he still couldn't use the Force, but was fast enough to grab her, just reflexes.

His voice took a dangerous edge. "In other words, Pratus violated EVERY tradition and law Alderaan has. Lied about why I was there. Falsified a charge against me. And since Pimm sponsored me, I was her Champion. When I was dishonorably attacked, she defended me, as would be EXPECTED of her." His face tilted down, Serah's eyes going wide at the power of the emotion behind him. "So if you want to be mad, be mad at HIM. She spoke up, sponsored me because she knows I have honor. She defended her Champion. And that...DISGRACE! HE had the audacity to hurt me and incarcerate her." He pulled Serah close, coming down, so their faces were inches from each other. "If you want to be mad because of where she is, be mad at him. But, I would highly suggest you not."

At this, Serah pulled her arm from his grasp, and slapped him again, "How DARE you, a SITH, tell me how to act and," but she was cut off. "I am not discussing ideological differences, Jedi." The first time he was not pleasantly polite with her, Serah broke off. "I am telling you, even though Pratus is in the wrong, if you go in mad, you will only hurt her case." Serah swallowed dryly, but her desire to protect Pimm flared, body seeming to swell, "And then we come back to you and her. You want her, Sith. You want her to fall."

Ja'on shook his head, throwing his arm up, turning from her. "There you go again! You have no CLUE what I want," he looked back at her, "Yet you judge me. You know only a fraction of my life!" Serah didn't back down, her voice taking a cool edge of its own, "You want another slave to rescue." The two stared at each other for a long moment, and Serah saw his good hand clench, the fist dangerously tight, and she saw his muscles ripple, taking a step back, ready for the attack. His voice was strained, like just getting any word out was a life-or-death struggle, "Don't. Insult. Me." Serah stepped up, though, "You do! I have no doubt that you cared for, even loved, your wife! But you bought her, you seduced her when she was under lock and chain! You want another to replace her!"

Serah barely had time to react, almost missing the movement before he was on top of her, his hand around her neck, her back against the wall. She managed to get her lightsaber out and in hand, but his body was against hers, pinning her. She did notice, though, that he did not squeeze, nor was he hurting her, his body trembling from pain and his emotions. His voice a growl, "I will not warn you again, Master Ferrowlah. Do NOT insult me like that." She seemed frozen as he stared into her eyes, as though she couldn't figure out what he was feeling. "Wha...What do you want with her then? WHY do you keep messing with her head?!"

He held still for a few breaths, then released her, and she noticed the broken collar bone's bruising was significantly worse. He stepped back, and sat, legs crossed, right hand up to her. "Find out. I can't hurt you." Serah swallowed, looking at the hand like it was a poisonous animal, then to his face. Much of the anger faded from him, chin rising, "Do it. Find out what I really want. Find out WHO I am and why. Or leave. It's your choice."

Serah replaced her lightsaber on her belt, crossing her arms over her chest, staring at the man. "Why would I even try this with you?" Her voice could not hide the confusion or trepidation she felt as she looked at him, and his lips pulled into a grin. "Ah, and there's the fallacy of logic. You accuse me of having ill intent of your Padawan because I'm Sith. And you refuse my offer to learn the truth, because I'm Sith." The grin wasn't mean, but it rose Serah's heckles a bit, even as he chuckled, finding her conflict amusing. "We both know I'm still wearing a neural inhibitor. That means I can't even see you right here in front of me, Master Ferrowlah."

"That would also prevent me from doing anything inside my head. I am offering you a chance to enter my mind, Jedi. To poke around. I may have an indomitable will, but against The Force, it is a mere bump." Serah's face showed she knew he was right, but still did not trust him. "You will know if you take this chance, Master Ferrowlah, what my intents are. Whether or not I DO want to corrupt Pimm. I can say all I wish, act however I want, but you will never accept it, even if it is the truth, because you fear me." Serah's eyes took a steely gaze at that. "You do. You fear the Sith. You fear the fall. But more, and I don't need the Force to see this, you. Fear. Me. I have honor. I have morals. I have always acted, with emotions, with feelings, but with a similar intent as your own Order. Save the civilians. Work towards a common betterment. Save when I was trying to rescue my wife," Serah began to open her mouth, but his hand rose to stop her from speaking, "Because I thought she had been kidnapped again, my goals have almost never been selfish that you know of. And even then, I wanted to avoid conflict. You don't understand me. I don't FIT being Sith."

Serah closed her mouth, chin rising a bit as she regarded him. "And because you fear what I am, because you don't understand me, you don't trust me. Which is fine. But you don't know Alderaan. You do not know the right way to save Pimm. If you act now, you will only hurt her case. I know Alderaan, its customs, its politics. I can help her. But unless you trust me, Master Ferrowlah, you will never take my help." His own head tilted down, voice softening, "I care about her, in ways you can't understand right now. I am offering to show you, so you CAN understand. Take the chance, and my help, or just leave. Because if you won't take my help, I have other things to do." Serah looked to the cell door, eyebrow arching, then back, "Like what?" she asked, voice not hiding her curiosity. He glanced at his broken arm and collar, and Serah could see and feel the wounds, "Going into septic shock and slowly drowning in blood, namely." He gave a sharp laugh, and both could hear the wet rattle from his lungs.

His cavalier attitude about his, as he sat there now, impending death broke something in the Jedi, and she couldn't help but laugh with him. Shaking her head, she moved in front of him, and sat. His right hand came back out, palm up, resting on his leg. "Forgive me for not following the unbroken circle, but my left arm," he offered, and Serah's face showed concern, about his knowledge of the ancient title, and more the fact he was worried about it. She rested her left palm over his right, and the two closed their eyes.

The next moment, they were standing on a field, stretching off to infinity. The sky over them was a mixture of things. On the horizon, and just past, were dark clouds, lightning flashing through them, foreboding and dangerous. Overhead directly was clouds, dark but not as dark, mixed with patches of sunshine. As Serah took her bearings, she felt a mixture of sensations, a heaviness in her heart, but a warm sensation like basking in the warm sun. Over her was a dome of energy, keeping the clouds at bay, a cascading energy flowing against the dome, acting much like a deflector shield holding against a storm. She looked around and saw the large man, moving towards him. "An interesting representation of the mind," she offered softly, drawing a small smile. "There's reasons."

As Serah looked around, she noticed how his mood shifted the sky, her interest and his pleasant response clearing some of the clouds away, letting more warmth from the sun, unseen but felt, shine through. "What is the dome? And that swirling energy?" Ja'on looked towards the horizon, "The inhibitor," his response subdued. "It's...hard to describe. Cut off from the Force, as I explained to Pimm, it's like losing a sense. Though I realize now she probably got a better idea after my description." He looked back to Serah, one word, soft, "Balmorra." Serah nodded, seeing the clouds thicken, but instead of dangerous and ominous, these looked more like a cold, dreary day rain. "Yes. Pimm. You brought me here for her, so what is your plan for her?" Ja'on smiled, though more of the dull gray clouds filled the sky, "That's the wrong question, Master Ferrowlah." The two looked at each other, and Serah finally asked what had been bothering her, "Why. Why her."

The scene shifted, instantly, as the memories came up. The two were standing in the middle of a small village, the outlines hazy. She saw Ja'on's memory of himself, younger but not smaller, less wear on his face, but no lightsaber on his belt. He was wearing, of all things, uniform of a guard or militia, with a carbine rifle slung over his back. He was talking to an older man, "But you see the problems here and here, M'Lord." The older man looked up, giving the militiaman a grin and punch to his shoulder. "Ja'on, you know you're above this. Why do you insist on working here?" The younger man laughed, easy, not carefree but relaxed, and Serah could see less weight behind those eyes. "Because this is important. But...." he trailed off, as the clouds overhead grew dark and thick, though the memory's lighting was unaffected. The other man immediately grew concerned, before Ja'on nodded. A transmitter was pulled out of his pocket, a switch flicked, and an alarm started blaring through the village.

The response was immediate, the citizens that were out clustering into houses, the militia forming instantly, moving in practiced order to their posts. A second later, Ja'on's eyes went wide, "Get out of your houses!" but too late. A low flying craft strafed the village, laying down laser fire and dropping bombs, scattering houses, the screams of those in them dying too fast. Then sounds of concussive grenades started popping at the perimeter, as Ja'on grabbed the Lord, "Get Jax, your wife, and go!" He primed his rifle, moving to the perimeter as the nobleman was on his heels. "I will not abandon these people, too many already have!" Serah and the current Ja'on didn't move, though the sky overhead started to crack with thunder, flashes of lightning, as a rain fell over the dome. Even not touching her skin, Serah could tell it would be cold, and the scene moved as the memory did. It was bloody, militia easily overwhelmed. The aircraft was coming in for a second strafe as Ja'on turned and lit it up with his rifle. One blast was lucky..."Not lucky" Serah thought as she felt the Force in the memory pull his aim just right to blow out the cockpit, killing the pilot.

The craft still crashed into a few houses, but the citizens had managed to escape, then Ja'on's weapon was turned onto the approaching raiders. Serah thought she recognized the brand on the invading force’s uniforms, but couldn't tell from where. Ja'on was shouting, "Get your family, the other citizens, and go! NOW! We can't stop them!" The nobleman nodded, turning, before an old physical projectile weapon hit him, his head exploding as Ja'on watched in horror, blood and brains staining him. Most of the line was dead, and he turned back into the village, laying down suppressing fire. Serah saw that each shot killed an invader, as he made it to the square. Too few of the villagers made it there, a woman coming to him, "Ja'on? Where is my husband?" He looked down over himself, silent as a particularly loud crack of thunder rocked Serah. The woman nearly broke down, but his hands were on her shoulders, "Get them out of here. They don't have any other craft. Load up and fly!" He turned back as the first invaders started to make their way into the square.

Serah spoke, and as she did, the memory froze, "This...is horrible. But it doesn't explain anything," as the man whose mind she was in, said softly, "Wait." Serah explored the scene, then waved, and it shifted. Her eyes went wide as she pushed into Ja'on mind further, for memory is a faulty thing, even to those trained in the Force. The scene they were watching was as Ja'on remembered it, but he did not remember everything. More dead bodies materialized in the square, and she turned to the memory of the man himself. He hadn't realized at the time, the near impossible avoidance of every shot, but he had taken five blasts, was scorched and bleeding already, but that did not slow him down. She looked to the "real" Ja'on as he looked at his body, giving a soft "Huh." The scene then came back to life.

The militia man was keeping the raiders at bay as the Noblewoman was ushering the village to a garage, before a concussive grenade blew next to her. Normally, they were good stunning weapons, but at close range, they were still lethal. She landed in a flump, bleeding from nose and ears, eyes unseeing. A child, maybe five or six, screamed "MOM!" and ran to her, but Ja'on turned and intercepted him. "Jax! JAX!" The boy looked at him, tears on his face as Serah watched, "Jax, I've been teaching you to fly! You're the only one who can. You NEED to get them safe!" The boy was on the verge of a breakdown, "Why didn't the others help? You TOLD THEM!" Serah could feel the anger from the child, knowing it was what Ja'on had felt at the time, but the man shook his head, "It doesn't matter now, Jax. You need to get them out of here!" He spasmed once, but pointed, "GO!" The boy nodded, boarding the craft, and it took off. Ja'on stood, his left arm worthless from the shot that had shattered his shoulder blade, turning as the craft flew off, rage and hate on his face as he faced, what he saw, as his death.

The memory became fuzzy suddenly, and as Ja'on looked down, he saw an injector in his leg. Pulling it out, a second hit his torso, the memory growing faint. As he fell, he still squeezed out two more shots, then blackness. When it came back, he was in a cell, a shock collar on his neck, arms in binders behind his back, on his knees. He was watching the raiders outside of his cell, as one looked at him. "Finally awake. You're amazing, friend. Shattered scapula, five shots to limbs, took two sedatives to knock you out, and not a single wasted shot. And then, THEN!" He looked at a datapad handed to him, "While unconscious, you HEALED most of it. What's your secret." The lead came to the cell, a cyborg Serah saw now, "Ah. The Force. But not a Jedi." He grinned, a hard, cruel smile, "This...makes you useful." Serah gasped, as she recognized the man, and the insignia. "We are the Harvesters. But as good as we are, we always have more to teach. And wasting bodies just cuts into profits." Ja'on spat on the man at this, him laughing.

Everything in the memory went white hot as the shock collar came to life, the "real" Ja'on's hand coming to his neck as Serah watched. When the painful light faded, his memory self was on the ground, panting. "We are going to practice on you. And you will heal yourself." The next parts were blurry, hard to follow, just an overbearing scream, red and black blotches. "No, you fool! Don't ACTUALLY remove his liver! He can heal, not regenerate." Finally, the vision blurred and black at the edge, "Now heal yourself." Ja'on voice hoarse, "Kriff yourself." The pirate's voice just laughed, "No. Heal yourself. Or watch as we practice on the next. I'd hate to waste a seven year old who is worth more as a slave than organs, but I will." The sky overhead was threatening to shatter the dome as the current Ja'on shuddered with rage and pain, before the memory faded.

Serah looked at him, "You survived. But...how?" Flashes, a jumble of memories sprung up around them. More operations, though the pain less each time. Him tied to a post with protective armor over his most vital organs, being used as a human target. Him in his cell healing. But with each memory, his "real" self bled as each wound was remembered, and Serah realized where so many scars came from. "It's been four years! PLEASE enough?! I can't! I CAN'T DO IT!" Ja'on was sobbing in his cell, pale, weak looking. The leader smiled at him, that cruel one. "Sure. No problem Practice." He snapped his fingers as a blonde, terrified, was dragged from her cell and put on the table. Ja'on smashed himself against the energy shield holding him at bay, "NO! Not her!" The pirate turned to him, all mirth gone, "I promised you that the next time you faltered, I would start pulling from our stock." Ja'on shook his head, as more memories flooded, the two finding comfort with each other in spite of the pain and terror, resting and tender moments, "PLEASE! Please, I'm sorry boss! I just hurt so much! I just meant as a break!" Tears were streaming down both versions of Ja'on's face. The real one spoke, "One of the first girls that I can say I loved. If we had made it, that relationship would never last, but, that doesn't diminish what we had." The leader nodded after a moment, "I understand Practice."

The leader turned to the doctor, "Harvest her." Ja'on threw himself against the cage again, fear turning to hate as the woman screamed as she was cut open staring at the one thing that had comforted her, knowing her pain was to torture him. "I can't give idle threats, Practice. I warned you. Now you have to live with this." Ja'on's face was locked on the girl until her eyes went blank, her organs pulled and stored for shipment and sale. He then turned his face to the pirate, "I will kill you, Zatheras. I will KILL YOU!" He smashed into his cell again, the energy burning him badly, but did not throw him back, and the leader stepped back, hand coming to his throat, trying to pry a grip that wasn't actually there off. The doctor hit a button, everything turning white hot with pain, until blackness. When he came back, voices muffled, "I can't promise this inhibitor will be enough Boss. He's only gotten stronger over the years." The other man, Zatheras, sounded concerned, "He's still too valuable to just harvest or sell. Do it." Then a blankness enveloped things.

The two looked at each other, the memories fading. "I healed myself over and over. Target practice, surgery practice, explosives, fire. And each time, I came back, because if I didn't," he couldn't finish the sentence. Serah softly asked, "When did you get away?" The cell came back. Ja'on stuck there, binders locked to the ground, hate on his face, red alarms flashing. The doctor was suspended in the air, struggling, before being thrown across the room. A woman came into view, red and black robes, a ruby-blood red blade of energy in her hand, before she looked at Ja'on, coming over. "Hm. I was wondering what I felt. Force sensitive. Powerful. Even have some real training? Interesting." She tilted her head, regarding the man, and Serah realized the inhibitor was tuned to keep his body inert, but his mind was fully aware. The Sith woman must have realized the same, as she fiddled with some controls, and Ja'on in the cell stirred. "You can be dangerous, but I promise you if you are good, you will survive this." Ja'on lifted his head, the memory fuzzing as he moved, the pain severe.

The Sith just laughed, "You are no match for me, I promise you. I am going to destroy this ship when I have what I need. I can leave you to die, or you can come with." Ja'on's eyes went to the blaster on the doctor's belt, then spoke, "The other slaves. Bring them with." The woman laughed, "You are in no position to negotiate!" The prisoner then stood, slowly, the binders fighting against him. But, his will, his ability with the Force, and his strength alone was enough to break the magnetic bind, and he stood before her, just the red energy wall between them. His right fist drew back, then smashed into the wall, burning him, but instead of rebounding, it punched through, and grabbed the woman's hair. "Bring them with, and I'll join you." The Sith was so shocked that she didn't even realize his arm was being burnt by the shield, but a wicked smile filled her face and she nodded.

The shield dropped, the slaves carted to the Sith's ship, and Ja'on took a blaster. It jumped as the two killed every Harvester on the ship, ending in the bridge. Ja'on stood over Zatheras, huge hands on the man's neck, choking the life from him, eyes locked on eyes, four fresh blaster wounds on his body. Finally, after the pirate was truly dead, did Ja'on drop him. He turned to the Sith woman, and the two departed. Serah finally spoke, "But...the Harvesters were destroyed over twenty five years ago?" Ja'on nodded, and finished the other question, "And yes, just about the time the Sith started the open war. Was the Harvester's prisoner, their slave. Their...." his face contorted as the sky lit up with more lightning, "Practice, for ten years. Then, ten years on Korriban." Serah swallowed, dryly, looking away from the man, his voice sounding tired, "That is why, Master Ferrowlah. Because I know that pain. I know that fear. I KNOW that helplessness." The scene shifted, and he was at the cage, Mira frozen with fear in the back, the angry clouds just gone now, though the dreary ones replaced them.

Serah could SEE Mira's fear, loathing, and saw in the background a thousand thoughts from Ja'on at the time. Sensing her pain. Seeing the way she was captured. Feeling her fear of what was to come. And over it all, his desire to take care of her, to ensure she didn't suffer. A flash and she was screaming at him, "I HATE YOU! JUST LET ME GO!" as he stood with the tray of food she had thrown coating him, the background showing the damage the Master would do to him if he did just release her, how she would be hunted, but all he said was, "I can't, Mira." Another flash, as he tended to a wound she had received while working, her recognizing his tenderness, his fear she would be hurt permanently. "I bought her because I knew what would happen, and didn't want it to. I figured, at the worst, she'd at least be owned by someone who wouldn't abuse her." A flash as he backhanded an imperial to the ground, "She does not owe you a fething thing, worm. YOU bumped into her in the first place, to cause a scene. To try and touch her!" Mira staring, amazed and awed, knowing he didn't have to defend her but was, Ja'on disgusted at the man on the ground's intent to get an easy rape in.

"Over that year, she warmed to me. The recording the night I bought her freedom, was the first time I admitted to myself, or her, I felt anything. I expected an empty house." It shifted as he opened the door, looking very melancholy, before Mira ran up the hall and leapt onto him, his shock and immediate elation, her passion for him. After the kiss, now witnessed twice by Serah, he held her, "Bu...But Mira! I..." She giggled, running her hands through his hair. "I've been in love with you for months, Ja'on. I was content, just being with you. But...this?" They bumped foreheads. That memory washed away in a flurry of pazaak cards, and a wash of white noise, and flashing numbers. "What happened after you don't need to see." Serah laughed softly, understanding. "So that explains why..well. Why you take it easy on her."

Ja'on shook his head. "Not easy, Master Ferrowlah. But I do have a spot for her. I know what she has gone through, since I lived it and saw it in others." Serah nodded, contemplating as she watched him, the plains empty except for the two. "She is fierce, strong. Her anger..." the two looked down and each shook their heads. Serah spoke up, "You then notice it doesn't have as strong of a grip?" He nodded in response, as he looked up, "I'm glad, truly, that you reached her. That anger...that pain. It can kill even the best and strongest without help." Memories popped, of when he saw her eyes, the relief that she wasn't wallowing in anger. The comfort she was willing to learn the situation before acting. Serah just watched him as the memories faded. Finally she spoke, not mentioning his own actions had greater impact than her own, "So you have no other thoughts of her?" This prod brought up other thoughts. She saw Pimm on the ground, spine severed, and him healing her. His own thoughts at the time fearing someone he trusted, even as little as he did her, would die, only now seeing the true damage the disruptor had done. "She said only her spine was damaged!" Serah exclaimed, and Ja'on nodded, "It's all I told her."

Pimm pinning him and injecting him with the rakghoul vaccine, and his anger at being attacked fading quickly to relief, though a soft resignation that it may not work. His appreciation at her willing to end him if he turned. Anger at thinking she had abandoned the Jedi to become a slave again on Corellia, her anger at him taking those other girls to bed, the fact he was still grieving Mira's death. At the recognition of her jealousy, another memory started, deep in a forest, but that was quickly surrounded in that chaos of cards and numbers. The two looked at each other, Serah's face hardening. Before she asked, he spoke, "Not a memory, but a thought, Master Ferrowlah. You can't understand, being Jedi, but I mourned my wife for years, even though she was right there. For the entire time she was in that tank, I couldn't touch her. Comfort her. Hold her." A sense of painful longing filled the air, "And then she died. I have had others," images of imperials, sith apprentices, all trying to bed him before Mira died, Genna's daydream and wrapping around him begging for a night, Lord Raskar's offer, "all try to join me, but I wouldn't."

He rose his face, meeting her gaze, arm outstretched to his side as though to bar her, the organized chaos around the memory a veritable fortress, and she knew even with the Force, it would take work to break through. "Even before Taris, I had a dream. Not prophetic. Not a shared bond. It was just...loneliness." Serah looked at the moving thoughts shielding the dream from her mind. "I ask you, with respect, to let my dreams be left alone, and to understand that when I had it, I was not in a good place." She saw Raskas on her knees, trembling with terror, hopelessness filling her, and the sky overhead just went black. Serah looked up, and even protected from his emotions by the inhibitor, she felt the pure, raw power of the hole that opened over her. Felt the gripping despair of grief so powerful, it could kill. "I touched the deepest part of my grief to show Lord Raskas. To prove a point." Even thinking about it now threatened to consume him. "It took six months to come out of it. And it was that, that final relief of working through the grief, that gave me the dream."

Serah nodded, softly, leaving the dream be. "Of...of course Ja'on. Even I can understand that loneliness. But, if you had that dream...." He smiled, softly, "It just means that she's the only one my mind felt worth bringing into the dream." The two moved now, away from the thoughts of Pimm, and Serah asked, "Why. Why did you want to protect that village?" They were in a small dark room, a pair of voices, urgent, hushed, panicked, the male "Just stay there Ja'on!" A woman, "Please, contact my father! He has to know!" before the sound of a door crashed open. There were sounds of struggle, and Serah heard a stifled sob, and though it was black, she could see the outline of a child, twelve years old. "DRAN!" the woman screamed as a thud hit the ground, the door to the room opening a crack. Serah could see through the crack, a woman drawing a blaster, and shooting, before being cut down. "That's what a whore like you deserves," a cold voice whispered. Then smoke, heat, brighter flames, the woman's dead face in view of the crack. Ja'on, twelve, pushed out of the cabinet. Monsters, tall, faces in shadows, swords for arms turned to him as the house burned down. The boy grabbed the blaster, the wave of hatred enough to bowl two over, firing and each died. He stepped out, seeing the rest of his home on fire, killing more of the monsters.

"When I was twelve," his voice soft, "My parents were killed in front of me. Someone fancied my mother, but she was, well, married to my father. For years." He looked to her, face tight, "We had no one to protect us. I swore then I wouldn't let that fate befall any others." The monsters were what the twelve year old remembered, and Serah waved her hand, and they faded to mere men, assassins, wearing an odd crest. The two looked at them, before the memory was pushed away. "Now, do you understand? I respect your padawan, truly, and have no plans to corrupt her. Every encounter," and in the background he was gently pushing Pimm towards the Jedi Code, when healing her, helping her stay calm, making her relax and see the truth on Taris, "I do my best to reinforce your code over my beliefs. Because I don't want her to fall." Finally, open war broke around them, and Serah saw both sides fighting, Pimm and Ja'on facing off. "Because, if war happens, she will be a worthy foe. If war happens, Master Ferrowlah, I want to know she won't betray you or that you believe in." The two clashed, hard, fast, and Serah could see the power Pimm would possess if she continued on her training, at least as he saw it, "Because if I fall," and she cut him down, before moving to the next, "I want it to be against a worthy foe."

The war scene vanished, and Pimm and Ja'on were walking through Nar Shaddaa, side by side, laughing, "And if war doesn't happen, maybe she and I could be friends." Then they were on the plain again, just the two, before he fell to his knee, a wracking cough rattling in his chest. Serah nodded, at first, but at his fit, ran to him, kneeling to help him. "My lungs, Master Ferrowlah." The two opened their eyes, and Serah gasped as she saw blood trailing down his chin now. "By the Force," she murmured, and first wrapped her hands around his chest. She channeled the Force into his body, and the two heard the cracking as his ribs first set, then healed, and she continued until he was forced to cough, brackish blood expelling from his mouth and lungs. "Thank you, Mast," she shook her head, "Serah." He turned to her, a smile on his face now. She then moved to his collarbone, drawing a cry of pain as it was also set and healed, and finally his left arm. "Now, Ja'on. What do we do about Pimm?"

Serah worked then, removing the splint from his arm, as he flexed his muscles, "We wait trial. Stay calm. Never suppose, only facts. And regardless of what is said, you must not react." He looked at her, "You're used to that, I can see. Very protective, but knowing when to not react?" Serah nodded, "You must, at all costs. In spite of whatever lies are stated." He paced the room, "There was an audience, meaning witnesses. Once a Trial for Honor is started, it cannot be denied or ended. And the results must be upheld." Serah interrupted, "Wait. So what would you winning have granted?" Ja'on laughed, "I won, so I would have been granted great honor, allowing me to negotiate on the spot. Had I lost, I would have been granted lesser honor, allowing me to work for the House, for two to ten tasks, to earn full honor. Since it was announced as a Trial, those witnesses would either be afraid of Pratus, or in his pocket."

Serah shook her head at the betrayal, knowing the man spoke the truth right now. "When Pimm spoke for me, Sponsored me, two things happened. As far as politics and house lines consider, I am her champion. My actions, inaction, and words would reflect on her. And, as my sponsor, my well being was placed in her hands. Normally, this is a title. Nothing more. But, since I was betrayed, her jumping in to save me was actually what she should have done." He was pacing now, and Serah saw the oddest thing. He was impassioned, angry, frustrated, but at the same time, his intensity mellowed, calmed, became docile. In spite of the heat of emotions, he was calm....he was at peace. "You were not present, so you have nothing to contribute to the testimony, unless called upon to state about her character." He turned to Serah now, "All you are to say, if called, is "She has only acted in honor." Anything else will be considered drivel, wasted praise." This spiked a little anger in Serah, but she KNEW the reason he said it, that it was true.

At this point, the cell opened and the guard entered, eyes wide at the healed man, holding a pair of binders. Ja'on held his wrists in front of him, letting himself be bound, the magnets locking them together. The three left the cell, the guard nervous. Ja'on asked, "Where is Captain Alvond?" The guard shoved his weapon into the Sith's stomach, but it did little, except draw a growl, the man looking up. Slowly, the Sith strained, and then, the whine audible from the effort of the binders, separated his wrists, the guard's eyes wide. "Where is Captain Alvond?" The guard swallowed, as Serah mentioned, casually, "Yes, the Neural Inhibitor is still working." Paling, the guard stuttered, "Ou-ou-ou-outpost duty!" Ja'on lifted his chin, "You will retrieve him. He will be in the Great Hall in no more than thirty minutes." Trembling the guard took a step back, "I...I must...." Serah interjected again, "He is being escorted by a Jedi Master. Do as he says." At this the guard turned and ran, and the metal clinked loudly as he let his wrists rebind. Serah let off a whistle, "Impressive strength and stamina, Ja'on."

The two made their way to the great hall, entering. There was a sizable crowd, Pratus sitting over them all, a panel of lesser nobles acting as judges. Ja'on quickly noticed that none who had been there when he arrived were present, save Pratus and his niece. Pimm was in a chair, alone, and Ja'on didn't need the Force to tell she was afraid. "Good, we are all here." Ja'on had a gripping moment of wanting to scream at them, and he knew Serah felt it, but his body and face showed nothing as he approached, and stood behind and to the right of Pimm. "Sit, accused," the lead judge said, and he shook his head. "I am Lady Pimm's," he began before he was interrupted by Pratus, "She is a worthless servant offworlder!" Ja'on stared at him, then stated again, "I am Lady Pimm's, whose title was granted by House Organa, over which not a single person here has authority to deny, champion. As such, I stand at her ready, ALWAYS."

There was a murmur at the insistence, the title, the house name dropped. The panel of nobles did not press the point, instead looking to each other. "Very well, but you are no Champion. You are Sith, a murderer, and here to undermine House Alde!" Pimm almost laughed at the absurdity, and Ja'on met the noble's gaze, the judge breaking first, "I am ambassador for House Bathera, at the behest of House Thul. When I came to broker an agreement, I demanded trial for honor. Lady Pimm sponsored me." The murmuring in the crowd grew, Pratus growing angrier on his chair. "After my trial, I was betrayed by ACTING Lord Pratus, and my Sponsor defended me."

The judges whispered among each other, "There are no witnesses to support your claim, Sith. If the offworlder is a Lady of Organa, where is her signet." Pimm spoke, "After the betrayal, and I was incapacitated, HE!" she spat not saying Pratus' name, "tried to rape me and confiscated my belongings from House Organa! The only difference is I am not wearing a neural inhibitor stopping me from using the Force." There was a roar at the accusation from the crowd, and Ja'on noticed the niece scowling, but not looking at them. "ORDER!" shouted one judge, and the room quieted, "These are HARSH accusations, offworlder! Without proof of your station," and Pimm shouted back, "HE STOLE THEM! Check his study!" Another roar, as Ja'on rested his hand on her shoulder, voice a whisper as no one paid attention, "No more Pimm. If you do, they'll call you a liar next, and that's bad." The urgency made her tremble but nod.

Once the room quieted, there was a burst of noise, as Captain Alvond crashed through the doors, two guards unconscious on the ground. "WHAT IS THIS?" the judge shouted, as Alvond came up and saluted. "Captain Alvond, Captain of House Alde guard!" The judges looked at each other, "And the reason for the crashing entrance?" He looked at the two outside, then back, "They were under orders to bar MY entry at a trial. When it is my SWORN duty to attend!" This made the crowd grow uglier and Pratus paled. The judges were quiet, "Do you know either of the accused?" Alvond looked at them, nodding, "Lady Pimm, Title in Honor of House Organa, Knight of the Jedi Order, and welcomed guest of the House. I escorted her from House Organa myself. And he," his eyes met Ja'on, "Is Darth Junath, Ambassador for House Bathera at behest of House Thul, here to broker an arrangement." Alvond then pulled out the lightsaber, turning back to the judges. "I am sworn weapon bearer while he is acting ambassador on Alde grounds."

Pratus finally spoke, "Alvond is a drunk and a disgrace, letting two off worlders too close to MY House, so I had him removed to a lesser duty to try and impart better behavior." This didn't cause an uproar. Not a murmur. Not a whisper. Instead, the whole room was dead quiet, all eyes, judges as well, on Pratus. He held himself arrogantly, superior. By right, he was the most noble, the highest station, of all. To call him a liar would be a death sentence, even with his gross overstatement of who the House belonged to, since the Count was alive.

The judges finally spoke, "Four minute recess while we review." The crowd rose, but few spoke. Pratus' niece stepped to the side, and Ja'on patted Pimm's shoulder, "One moment, My Lady," he whispered, and moved to the young girl. She turned as he closed in, face contorting in rage, "Just be quiet, and save your breath. You deserve this, we both know it!" she hissed. Ja'on sighed, softly, coming in close, "How do you think I know the rites? The words? The trials? Study? Research?" She trembled, as he shook his head, "No. I am a True Son of Alderaan. I was taken, a slave. I was tortured for years. I was conscripted to the Sith. You see it, I ally myself with a Jedi for Alderaan now. I swear, on my life, on my family, on my Honor, I am loyal first to the Queen and Heir. I have never raised a finger against Our Home." The girl trembled, breaking under the weight of his words, "Hate the Sith. I do not blame you. But you are not damning me or them. Your silence is damning her." The girl looked at the Twi'lek, lips hiding between her teeth now, "I am begging you, as a Son of Alderaan to one of Her Daughters. Do what is honorable. She doesn't deserve this."

The two met gazes for a moment, then he turned without a response, moving back to Pimm. The judges called to order, "Without a noble's verification, we have no choice," but was interrupted. "I am Lady Ceci, daughter of Count Alde's third child, niece to Lord Pratus. I was present when Lady Pimm arrived, as well as Ambassador Junath." All turned to her as Pratus's eyes went wide, face growing ugly. "And, as much as it pains me to say, both speak the truth. Ambassador Junath bested our most powerful in honorable combat, in a Trial for Honor, and was betrayed after. When Lady Pimm rose to protect her Champion, she was stunned with a concussive grenade." She pulled out a datapad, tapping a few buttons, "And I have the video evidence, as trainee to Captain Alvond."

Four things happened at once. The judges were ready to deliver the verdict, obviously clearing the two, as Pratus pulled a blaster, aiming and firing. It wasn't aimed at Ja'on, or at Pimm. It was aimed at Ceci. Pimm stood, grabbing the chair with the Force, throwing it into the path of shot. Serah grabbed Ceci with the Force and pulled her out of the path. But, the most shocking, was Ja'on. As the two Jedi reacted after the gun was pulled, he had already started to run, recognizing what was happening before the blaster even was visible, ripping his arms apart, breaking the binders' hold. As the chair exploded when it intercepted the laser, and Ceci was falling to the ground safe, he was vaulting the judges, Pratus screaming seeing the seven foot behemoth charging him. When everyone realized what had happened, Ja'on had already body checked Pratus into the wall and had the Lord in a choke-hold with his right hand, his left holding Pratus's hand holding the gun, aiming the barrel at the noble's head. Pimm and Serah stared at the Sith, feeling the outrage rolling off him in waves, knowing he could literally squeeze the man's neck until his head popped. The head judge finally spoke, "Captain Alvond, ready the gallows."

This drew a barking laugh from Pratus, before, "Former Lord Pratus, for disregarding the traditions and practices of our founders and your Line's wishes, for betraying the successor of a Trial for Honor, and for attempting to murder a Lady of your House of higher station, you are stripped of titles and sentenced to hang until death, to occur immediately." Ja'on growled in the noble's face, "Or you can pull the trigger, coward." They stayed like that until the guards came up, taking the noble into custody, putting him in binders, and taking him away. Pimm had run to Ceci, helping her up, "Are you alright?" The girl nodded, looking to the two Jedi, "Tha...I...." She looked down. "Thank you, and I am sorry I let it go that far." The two older women looked to each other, but Serah spoke, "You hate the Sith for razing Alderaan. I understand. He became the focus of your anger, and you missed the rest of what was happening." Ceci nodded, and Pimm spoke now, "Thank you for speaking, Lady Ceci. I do, truly believe his intent. If I hadn't, I would not have sponsored him."

The judges all came to Ja'on, "We apologize, Ambassador, for the Former Lord's actions. You are obviously cleared of all accusations, as is Lady Pimm. Additionally, for your actions, your presentation, and for your defense of Lady Ceci, we bestow on you great honor. House Organa shall hear of this." Ja'on shook his head, "No, but thank you. I wish, only, to carry out my Patron's desires, and negotiate with the new acting Lord or Lady. I am not here for Glory." The three looked to each other and nodded, "As you wish, Ambassador." They turned away, the room clearing. Four hours later, Pimm, Ja'on, Serah, Ceci, and Ceci's Aunt Regina were sitting in the hall.

Serah had disengaged and removed the inhibitor, and Ja’on had redressed in his formal robes. Captain Alvond was outside of the hall, still holding the Sith’s weapon, and a search had found Pimm’s signet and jewelry. She had been right, it was in Pratus’s study, and it had all been returned to her. Regina was speaking, “Firstly, Ambassador, please accept my humble apologies. My uncle grossly overstepped his station, and I just hope that you do not hold his actions againsts all of us?” All three Force users could feel the venom beneath the surface. Regina was power hungry, but not horrible like Pratus had been.

Ja’on smiled, and nodded, a pseudo-bow while sitting, “Of course not, Lady Regina. The stresses of being in that position can overwhelm even the best intended people. It is a shame he fell as far as he did.” Serah and Pimm could feel the bile in Ja’on as he spouted off the very political acceptance of the not-quite apology, appeasing the new acting Lord of the House. There was no outward appearance of his disgust or disdain for her, but all three knew how he felt. Ceci, only trained in seeing the Force, saw the raw power the three wielded, but nothing deeper than that.

“I am pleased to hear! Now, what exactly is it that you have come to discuss with House Alde?” A moment of surprise, seeing her cut through the normal formalities and flatteries that come with these meetings, but a pleased one. “House Bathera, M’Lady, has asked I negotiate the release of transports on lock down, from the taxes unpaid for the passage of those transports.” Regina nodded, “I see.” All three felt her trepidation at this, knowing that as humble as Ja’on had acted, he could have brought a terrible shame to the entire House. In fact, the leverage he had, he would be within rights to demand the immediate release, and that Bathera be absolved and never again taxed. “You must understand, Ambassador, that The Count, my father, enacted those taxes to help pay the commoners who maintain the roads, the militia that keep the wild creatures at bay. This is not a frivolous tax just for the sake of putting a lesser house out.” This, was the truth.

Ja’on smiled warmly, “Of course, M’Lady! Before arriving I did research, and know this is an honest and very needed tax. However,” he tilted his head, “House Bathera was never notified of the tax as it went into effect five months ago.” Regina sucked her cheeks in at this knowledge, “And I understand, missives and announcements do get lost from time to time.” _“Never mind the fact your House never sent one.”_ “And it was Pratus who had the transports impounded, while The Count had let the situation lie.” This drew a soft smile from Regina now.

“So, Ambassador, what is the initial offer, and what is the final idea you wish?” During the exchange, Serah and Pimm had remained silent, letting the Sith do his job. The two and Ceci were asked, by Regina, to sit in. She knew her uncle had earned his death, and even admitted to the Jedi she had secretly wished Junath had simply squeezed Pratus’s neck until his head popped like a cork from a bottle. But, that power, now no longer held back by an inhibitor, frightened her. She just wanted insurance that he would not attack her, or make her agree to unreasonable terms. At first, Pimm was livid, ready to refuse the request, but Serah calmed her. _“I know he is honorable and respects the rules here, my Padawan. And I...I KNOW he doesn’t wish you ill. Regina is not trying to insult him. She is terrified of him. Be there, so she is comforted, and HE knows you respect him enough to adhere to these silly rules.”_ That admission had made Pimm agree, and Serah’s acknowledgement of knowing Ja’on the way she did told the Twi’lek enough.

“Well, My Lady, Lord Jaxus,” Serah perked a bit at the name, but wasn’t even sure why, “wishes a fair resolution. The first for this, is a proper announcement to His House, delivered by me, of the taxes. This way, he can ensure that his future transports are prepared. After all, He understands the reason for the tax, and finds it agreeable.” Regina nodded, “And second, is that the current impounded transports be released. He would be willing to pay, at least a portion if not the whole fee, for this, but as he never received an announcement, he does not know how much in fees had been accrued.” Regina’s eyes went wide, since the requests were not just reasonable, or fair. They were agreeable. Ja’on was telling her that the whole reason he was there, was because House Bathera’s failure to pay was only from ignorance, at no one’s fault, and that Lord Jaxus wanted to be on the up and up. But, Pimm and Serah knew the truth.

The head of House Bathera had no clue as to the reason his transports were impounded. He did want a favorable deal, willing to sacrifice his standing to a lesser position to make sure things were smooth with the greater house. They knew the Sith had full confidence that Jaxus would agree with him, and Pimm could feel the regret, but had no clue what Ja’on had that feeling for. Ceci, on the other hand, was just mesmerized by the scene. Ja’on’s “aura” for lack of better word, was conflict. But the only way to describe it was compared to the two Jedi. Both had a smooth, calming field around them, and Ceci liked to imagine it would be a soft blue glow. Ja’on, on the other hand, had the glow, his energy calm, but under it, deeper, was a torrent of energy. It looked like water just shy of boiling, or a smooth river that one knew was flowing faster than was safe. Parts of that energy felt dangerous, others comforting. But, what Ceci was watching for, were the tendrils from any of the three to the others, or her Aunt. She saw ripples across all three energy fields, but nothing reached out.

Regina regarded Ja’on for a long moment, but smiled sweetly, and all three Force Users knew Lord Jaxus would have a favorable outcome. “Well, the fees that led to the impounding of the current transports do come in excess of five hundred thousand. However, as mentioned, House Bathera was unaware of these fees. So, I feel confident that, should the outstanding but unactioned taxes be waived, it would not give a message of complacency, but understanding. However,” she hesitated, testing the waters, “The impounded transports do have fees of fifteen.” Ja’on didn’t even hesitate, pulling out a credstick, checking the balance on it. He stood, moving to Regina, and offered it. “Thirty, M’Lady. A show of faith.” Regina stood, accepting the stick, and looked at Ja’on. “I...forgive me ambassador. Have we met before?” The Sith shook his head, “I highly doubt it, M’Lady. I do have one of those faces is all.” She nodded, not sure if she believed him, but finished, “I see. Thank you, Ambassador. Ceci, would you give the release notes to the Ambassador?” Her niece stood, bringing Ja’on a data chip, who accepted it and pocketed it. “If you will excuse me, M’Lady? I must be on my way.”

After the little posturing, Ja’on was in the hall. Alvond returned his lightsaber, and the Sith left the building. He had ended up being at House Alde for two days now, having lost one during his incarceration, the trial, execution, and now the negotiations. Serah followed him after a minute, almost rushed, Pimm a moment behind her. The two women watched his back as he just looked over the impressive holdings of the House. His emotions were guarded, though both could feel a tension about him. Finally Pimm broke the tense silence, “What now?”

Ja’on did not respond, though Serah did. “You, are done.” Pimm turned on her Master at first, eyes wide with frustration rolling off her. “But, Master,” she started, as Serah rose her hand. Pimm fell silent, obedient, but all could feel her distaste. “Pimm, you were falsely accused, had an attempt of rape, incapacitated. But beyond that, you completed your missions here. Go, relax before something new comes up.” The Twi’lek stamped her foot, glancing at Ja’on, “I WANT to help him! If he has more to do, then someone should,” but she trailed off as Ja’on turned. His eyes looked tired, heavy, though his lips were pulled into a gentle smile. “Serah,” Pimm’s eyes went wide at the informal name, then looked back at her Master, lips parting in awe at the other woman’s smile in response, “Yes?” Ja’on turned to her fully, “May I? She is your padawan, after all.” Serah nodded, and Ja’on turned to Pimm, left arm crooked at the elbow. “If you would walk with me, My Lady?” She nodded, silent, resting her right hand on his elbow. Serah followed as the two meandered through the yard, able to hear, but not making her presence known.

“Pimm, I think you should listen to her,” Ja’on’s voice was calm, soothing even, and Pimm’s eyes were up on his face as he guided her, absentmindedly through the yards. “She is right, the politics at their best here are trying for even the most savvy residents. You performed your duties that I saw admirably, but you experienced some of the worst this planet has to offer.” He paused as he looked at her, before continuing, “And before you ask, no I don’t want to send you away. But you would do better out of this environment. Recuperate. Relax.” Pimm looked down as they walked, weighing what both people had said, “But what about you?” she finally put forth.

He chuckled softly, “I just have to deal with some refugees, and get the transports back to House Bathera. I’ll be fine with that, I promise.” Pimm stopped this time, turning to face him, concern in her face, and Ja’on felt the deeper question, the real concern about what HE was feeling, what had happened to him, his injuries. And she had seen his body, almost all of it, now. “I’ve dealt with worse than one power hungry little man, Pimm. I’m not going to lose my temper and fall over him.” This didn’t please her, but she nodded understanding what he meant. “Your bow...what did it mean?” The Sith laughed, softly, “You saw the guard bow. That woman is one of his lovers. The hand over heart showed emotional attachment. The soft bow showed acknowledgement and a level of intimacy.” She contemplated this, “So, the hand on your head was what? An intellectual attachment?” She grinned at him, as he responded, “More of a friendship. A connection of minds and thoughts. An understanding of one another. The left hand back showed vulnerability, and as such trust.” Pimm swallowed at this, realizing that meant a great deal from him. “You sponsored me, so I placed my trust in you as speaker for me.” “And more,” he thought to himself, but saw her eyes dilate, showing she most likely picked the thought up. Her voice a breathy whisper now, “And the kneel?” He turned away from her, leading her again through the yards, “A devotion. As your Champion, depending on the events that follow the trial, I also act, in some regards a servant.” She nodded, and he felt the cascade of thoughts and emotions, keeping his own thoughts calm and hidden. He knew, and suspected she had an idea, what he would have done had Pratus aimed at her instead of Ceci. The three walked in silence, Pimm enjoying the gentle weather, and her eyes being drawn to points of the landscape and horizon that she had missed her entire time there, because she had not walked exactly here, or to that spot from that direction.

She finally spoke, voicing her concerns, “I just worry, Ja’on. I mean, the fact that your enemies here smile and shake hands while trying to put a knife in your back, instead of just openly attacking...what if someone wants to hurt you?” To this, the Sith could only shrug. Finally, Serah interjected, “I was planning on staying and helping him, if he’d have me.” Pimm and Ja’on turned to her, and she continued, “After all, I may believe you, Darth Junath, but that doesn’t mean I trust you. But,” she looked to Pimm, “If you are worth what it seems like, and truly as honorable as you put forth, then seeing you in action could placate my fears further.” Ja’on and Pimm looked at each other, both offering a smile, then nodded in agreement. “Very well, Serah, I would welcome the company.”

Two hours later, Pimm was aboard the shuttle that would take her to the massing point of the Republic fleet, and from there, who knew where. Serah and Ja’on then turned away from the star port, her voice calm, “You have quite a bit more than some refugees, don’t you.” He offered a soft shrug, “Not sure about quite a bit, but yes. But first, the transports.”


	12. Bathera's Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on finishes his mission on Alderaan with a little help

Serah and Ja'on departed the starport after Pimm had left, walking in relative silence. Finally, he spoke, "I'm honestly surprised you asked to accompany me. Sending her off, with the number of times she and I have met, and with all that happened here, made sense." Serah gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head, "You and I both know it's not just the number of times you've met that worries me." There was a pause, just a second, in their gaits, before continuing, acknowledging what she met. "As for myself, you two seem tied, your paths. I worry for my padawan," she looked to the sky as the approached the gate from the settlement. "And while she does trust you, and I believe the past encounters, and what you presented then is honest, I do not trust you." She locked her gaze on him, the side of his head. She reached out, gently, probing, but he had erected a wall, thoughts and emotions blocked from her now.

She did notice a small spasm at her voice of distrust, however, a mix of pain mixed with mirth, before he nodded. "That makes sense. So what, you hope to discern my real character and intent by coming with me? See how I handle my mission?" He gave her a sidelong glance, lips pulling into a playful grin, "Or just trying to figure out Imperial secrets?" She felt that wall shift, just a bit, opening up to her, the humor in his face matching his mood, though she knew she would be a fool to take that at face value. But, the gentle prod drew her own grin, "Oh, yes, I plan on learning the darkest secrets of the Imperial Admiralty just by following you on Alderaan!" She then wiggled her fingers at him, "OooOOOOOooooh!" The two laughed at the implied spooky mysticism, his frame relaxing from the rigid posture.

After they had cleared the gates, he pulled out his datapad, and she was able to see a topographical map of the area, and the scale between the various points was significant. He tapped one spot, "This is the outpost where the transports are locked. It is my first stop, but that's a good two and a half day hike." He looked to Serah, then at the nearby garage, she felt the inquisitive thought before he asked, "Do you ride? Or prefer to pilot?" This was her turn to be shocked, "It's been awhile, but riding is preferable." He nodded, and headed into the garage, her following. Piloting meant a close-seated speeder, and riding was more open, normally single seat. He picked two of the speeder bikes, one a model she was familiar with, the other quite old. The mechanic laughed at the Sith as he checked the older speeder, "I doubt an offworlder like yerself will be able ta start let alone ri..." and he trailed off as the speeder thrummed to life, the Sith's hands very adept on the machine.

He turned to Serah, and in her mind, she saw something, just a glimpse, the man in front of her, but much younger. Less weight behind his eyes, fewer wrinkles. A snug but not tight uniform, a bike like the one he had his hands on thrumming to life, a voice echoing, "How?" with his own mellow baritone, "Just a knack for it!" She shook her head, the thought clearing, as the now came back into focus. "These ought to have us at the checkpoint within the hour, if it works for you?" Serah nodded, that image sticking with her. She started her own speeder, the two donning a helmet each, before they exited the garage. She flanked and hung behind, as he knew where they were going, and she only had an idea. The way he handled the speeder, flowing with the lay of the land. He wasn't just skilled, he was knowledgeable. "Is he Alderaanian? That would make sense," she silently mused as he expertly guided his speeder around the opening of a ravine.

He was right, they pulled up to the checkpoint in just under an hour, the gentle hum and thrum of the speeder repulsors dying as they killed the systems, sliding from the bikes. They were approached by the guards at the checkpoint, the men armed but not aggressive at the moment. "State your business." Ja'on drew the datachip, handing it to the first. "Ambassador for House Bathera, with clearance for impounded transports of said House, with fees paid." The first guard slotted the chip into a datapad, nodding, "Confirmed. Thank you Ambassador." They led Ja'on and Serah into the lot, where there were two automated transports locked down. She felt nothing but a cool and calm energy from the Sith the whole time, then a little spike of elation. "Oh good, fully automated. Once initiated, they'll self-pilot back to the House," he moved to the first, opening the cargo bed, crawling in.

Every aspect of these dealings threw Serah for a soft loop. Calm, collected, emotions not playing into his actions. Even when he had tackled Pratus, and his anger, "No. Not anger," she corrected herself. Outrage was a better word. That outrage at the man's audacity hadn't driven his actions. While she and Pimm had been worried about Ceci's well being, he was worried about what Pratus would continue to do if not stopped. He had reacted before either Jedi had realized what was happening. And then, as well as now, she KNEW that he KNEW Ceci would be safe, her well being would be their priority, and that they were more than capable of saving her. Not counting on it, but it was a fact. Now, the cool and expected behavior from the guards and himself. It was all....just the normal situation for him.

She followed him into the cargo bed of the transport, smelling metal, oil, welding. She looked over the bed, and saw various starship parts. She found a small plate, recognizing it as ship hull, lifting it. It was lighter than expected, but she felt it with her hands and mind, realizing it was much stronger than it first appeared. Putting it down, she looked, saw stabilizers, for seats or beds. Designs she hadn't before seen, seeming to be better, that whatever they were holding up would suffer turbulence or combat movement less. He was looking over a schematic, and she came behind, looking around him. He was nonplussed by the proximity, shifting to actually let her see. The plans were large, a moderate sized frigate. Lots of cargo space, well armored. Her lips pulled into a thin line as she looked over the design, but blinked, realizing it was lacking in weapons.

He flipped, moving to the next aspect of the schematics, and her eyes went wide. While it had the bridge and crew station, the majority of the inside was just a massive cargo hold. Beds, Kolto and Bacta tanks, diagnostic machines. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, then looked up at him, and back as the next image came up. "Yes," he answered the unasked question, "All this tech, the armor, the stabilizers, the engines in the second truck, are all for medical ships." He shut down the data stream, turning to her with a soft smile on his face. Not superior, not mocking. Just, pleased. "We may not be in open war, Serah, but there are still skirmishes. Wildlife. These plans, when built, will get the injured to home stations, barracks, medical facilities, or across the stars to a proper planet to treat the wounded." He moved back out of the bed, her close behind, closing it up. He moved to the automated piloting system, rebooting the first one, ensuring that House Bathera was the destination, before the transport hummed out of the lot. He repeated for the second transport, then led her out.

Serah couldn't get a solid read on his emotions or thoughts. They shifted constantly, and she thought about the wall of chaos he had hidden that dream behind. Skilled at misdirection and shielding, he knew the right ways to keep people out. Most untrained would actively try to not think of what they wished to hide, just bringing the thoughts to the front of their mind. She, and to a lesser degree Pimm, had learned to hide it behind a wall of white noise, as it were, but with the Sith, it was as natural as breathing. When she focused, she heard him playing three different games of Pazaak, going over astronavigation charts, and a plethora of other random thoughts. It kept what he was actually thinking well hidden. He paused, tilting his head, and his voice was soft, "I don't appreciate that, Serah." She shook her head and realized how deep she had been probing him, and withdrew. "I'm sorry, Ja'on. But with everything that I know of you by now, you perplex me. I'm just trying to figure you out."

He let out a soft sigh and nodded. "I can understand that, since I seem to break the idea of the Sith at every turn." A single gentle nod from her, "And yet I claim nothing else. Am I truly as I present myself? Am I plotting and scheming?" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head, and Serah could feel a twinge of his emotions, powerful, passionate, but tempered. A jumble so confusing she couldn't feel a single one accurately. "I have a history, Serah. We all do. It guides and molds us. And makes us all more than a single thought or idea. Take Pimm. A slave, rescued, and now a Jedi. Her past, her hurt, is always with her, but now, she strives to be beyond that, to be more. Yourself, quick to protect and defend, a near maternal anger-like feeling always under the surface, but we both know the Jedi Code and tenants are against such emotions." Serah's lips pursed at this, though she knew he was not mocking or belittling her. He had garnered that much information after so few meetings, and she couldn't figure out anything stable about him. He continued, "Neither of you are the typical Jedi," he stressed the word as though it was the only one that mattered, "But that does not make you less a Jedi, or less what else you are."

Serah began to see his point, "I see. And the war?" He shrugged, looking up at the mountain range in the distance, and she felt...longing. Pain. "Nothing is ever black and white. Many in the republic see the Sith and the Empire as evil, but are we? Sith and Jedi have been at war, even with our disappearance, for centuries. The Empire believes in order, but they have civilians, citizens, who just want to eke out a living, to survive, find love and success." He didn't voice the fact the Republic had the same, but Serah felt the implication, nodding in agreement. She softly prompted, "And yourself?" He laughed again, grinning at her, "I'm more than a Sith, more than a former father and widower husband, more than the planet I was born on, and more than the titles I carry." He winked at her, playfully, revving his bike back to life. "I have three more stops, though if you wish to return to House Alde, I would understand."

Serah regarded the man silently. She was quickly realizing that, in spite of allegiances, he didn't see himself as an enemy of the Republic or the Jedi Order. He was not trying to send her away, but didn't want to monopolize her time either. It was an honest offer to let her leave if more pressing issues came up, and nothing more. She started her speeder bike as he brought his back to life, the sequence to start it hard to follow. "Thank you, Ja'on," she replied, "But I'll accompany you further. I just have the feeling it would be better if I did." He nodded, bringing his datapad out and referencing the map. "There are three different factories with three different issues. The closest is actually the most pressing, and it is a good distance away." The two mounted their bikes, and sped off to the next destination.

A few hours later, they slowed to a halt, the factory in site, but a good distance away. They killed the engines, and she saw something shift. Instead of being the diplomat, what she saw in him was analytical, thinking, shrewd. His voice was low, scanning the wall. "This is a weapons development factory. Less actual production, more research. Pirates, possibly from White Maw, have landed and overrun. As of now, they haven't been able to access the data or prototypes, but," he glanced at Serah. A steely edge had filled his face, "They will not be deterred for long. There are, also as of forty minutes ago, hostages. Their safety is my primary concern," she knew that was the truth from him, "followed by ensuring the pirates fail."

The two stayed low, and Serah saw the tactics in play. They had approached the facility from a blank wall, with no windows or doors. As such, there were no pirates to see them, and the distance they had parked the speeders ensured they would be undetected. In moments, the two force users were against the blank wall, moving along the edge to the corner. That wall was still there, she realized, but it wasn't the chaos she had felt before. Instead, his only focus was the mission at hand. She pushed her senses into the building, and felt for life. There were a couple dozen life forms, and the emotions she felt was a mixed set with fear, anxiety, anger, and impatience. Ja'on scouted around the corner, and the two made a quick path along the new wall. There were two pirates on the roof now, above them, but neither near the edge. In spite of being only a couple dozen feet away from the scouts, they were safe.

He held them at the next corner, the next wall they would travel along had the entrance to the factory. He was scouring the approaching path, as well as the wall itself, before shaking his head. Not even a whisper, just a voice in her head, "Two guards, on comm, at the door. We can't take them both down before being seen." The two backed up, and he looked up. She knew the roof was out of the question, but her eyes followed his gaze, and saw the window. He glanced over to her, eyebrows arching in question, and she nodded. In an impressive display of skill, he leapt the twenty feet to the sill of the window, his toes on the sill, balanced there. He felt the window, then she felt a tiny pulse, and the window swung open. He stepped in, and she leapt up, focusing the Force through her legs to reach the height. He caught her hand as she started to land, pulling her in. It was impersonal, professional. To him, here and now, she was an ally, and nothing else. If either of them failed, both would.

Inside the building, she was able to feel the life forms better. There were multiple rooms, and she realized quickly he wasn't lying. This wasn't a production factory, though it had fabrication capabilities, but research and development. Twenty forms had aggressive emotions, moving in different paths. There were of course the two on the roof, and two at the door. Additionally, there were eight forms, clustered together in one room, the fear palpable on her tongue. The room they were currently in was on the second floor, obviously an administrative one, the door to the main facility closed.

He approached the door, lightsaber in hand, but not lit. His back was against the wall, and she could almost see his energy probing the hall. She felt the pair of guards on the walkway pass by, then he opened the door and stepped behind them. She was immediately behind him, her own saber off but in hand. He grabbed the two pirates by their necks, and slammed their heads together, incapacitating them instantly, the unconscious bodies limp in his grip. He motioned back into the office, where Serah retreated, and he followed. He took the weapons and comms from the two, then ripped their clothing into a few strips, and tied them up, hands behind backs, ankles together, then wrists to ankle. The knots were tight, deft, and she saw would give the men no wiggle room to free themselves. Finally, he gagged the two, and then stepped back out onto the walkway, motioning for her to follow.

In the more open facility, she got a better layout of the place. The hostages were practically below them, and none of the pirates had a bead on them yet. He waited, and she felt the patrols on the lower level move away, and he dropped over the railing. In spite of his bulk, she didn't hear him hit ground, before she was over the railing herself. Not as capable at the soft landing, she felt a rush as she descended, his energy slowing her to land silently. Through a doorway, into a hall, they moved to the hostages. Outside the room, she could hear one voice, "WHAT THE KRIFF IS THIS POODOO?" The man was angry, volatile, and dangerous. One voice, timid, terrified, "Th-th-they are EMP grenades, for anti droi...." this was cut off by the angry one, "I KNOW WHAT THEY ARE FOR! MY question is, WHY is an R&D factory making them?!" The terrified voice again, "That's wh-what we're contracted toAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Serah could feel the spike of anger, hear the click, and smell the sulfur before the hostage started screaming, the heat washing from the room intense. Ja'on had begun to move as she realized the flame weapon was being used on the man, both lightsabers hissing to life. The eight hostages were terrified, the leader on fire and screaming. A wash of energy from Ja'on's arm put the flames out, but the man had been horrifically injured already, the pirate turning at the noise and movement. His eyes went wide before he screamed in pain, his arm with the flamer sliced clean off at the shoulder by the beam of silver light. Serah saw the wall to their right, it was windowed, and all the pirates saw the two enter the room, moving to close in. She closed and sealed the door they had entered, but realized how poor their situation was as the injured pirate fell to the floor scrambling to get out.

She met Ja'on's gaze, in a moment, then the two moved, breaking into action. "Can you hold?" she asked as her lightsaber was turned off and put on her belt, moving to the injured man, his skin sloughing off from the burns. Ja'on nodded, "The rest of you, behind the short wall. Stabilize him, then get him back there as well." He reached out with the Force, grabbing the pirate and drawing him back, a hum from his saber decapitating the man, before he moved to the door, his blade deflecting all the incoming laser blasts. Serah saw the skill, the defense, knowing he would keep the pirates at bay long enough. The hostages listened to the Sith, moving to the relative safety as she started healing the man's body. It was hard work, his entire body had been burnt, but she was working quickly, used to healing. She felt the pirates falling, their own reflected lasers hitting them in the head, chest, or neck. Every possible reflected shot was a killing blow, but she froze in her healing as she looked at the Sith. Every kill spiked his emotion, just a single one. Guilt. Taking their lives weighed on him, terribly, but knew full well he could not afford to disarm, or incapacitate. These pirates were willing to use flamers on hostages, there was no middle ground. She went back to healing, the man's heartbeat and breathing slowing to normal, the blisters fading from his skin.

It seemed to be going well, when she heard and felt the hard pop, the windows blowing in. He called back, "Grenades. That was concussive." She realized he had pushed it aside, the force blowing the windows, but not enough of the energy passed through them to be felt. The man was stable enough now, two others came back to her, the three of them dragging the man back. Ja'on became more aggressive now that he was the only one in the line of sight of the pirates, and she realized, minus the two on the roof, everyone was facing down the Sith. Stray laser blasts flew through the blown windows, some even impacting the short wall, but did nothing to it. Soon, there were only six pirates left, well hidden behind their own cover. Concentrating on healing the man, since he was still in danger from his wounds, she could do nothing to help, and knew that if Ja'on approached, the hostages would be in danger. The fear was strong from the hostages, they all knew how much trouble they were in, when she felt a pull, and dared to look.

He had drawn a blaster from somewhere, and she noticed his right boot had a holster. His saber never stopped moving, but three quick shots, and the three on the lower level were dead. There were three still on a walkway, and she recognized them drawing grenades. His lightsaber hissed off, was put on his belt, and the gun in his right hand now. He aimed, and as the first pirate was moving his arm, Ja'on fired. Just as the grenade left the man's hand, the laser bolt smashed into the explosive, detonating it on the spot. That pirate was dead, the other two pirates flubbing their own throws, and two more explosions on the walkway ended the threat. The skill and ability was impressive, as he holstered his pistol, then ran and jumped onto the second floor walkway.

She continued healing the injured man, who was calming, and she felt the elation from those around her, and felt two more life forms enter the facility...those from the roof. It was a moment, then two. She felt emotions flowing, shifting, then two spikes of anger, a dip of guilty resignation, then two lives ended. He had tried to talk them down, into surrendering, and they had attacked him. He came back as she finished the healing, to the best of her ability. The man would still need treatment, but he was no longer under threat of shock or organ failure. She stood, looking to the Sith, his face drawn into a pained and angry scowl, breath was hard and controlled. He was mad at the two for not surrendering, for attacking him. _"They knew they were outmatched. They KNEW they couldn't stop me. WHY. Why. Why couldn't I make them."_ He wasn't looking at her, his mind open for the moment, caught up in his guilt. She withdrew quickly, realizing she would not be welcome, and to be frank, the darkness under that guilt frightened her. He looked up, the ugliness fading back to the practiced smile. "How is our injured?"

"He needs more treatment than I can provide, but is stable and coherent." He smiled and nodded, and she felt the relief wash from him. He pulled out his holocommunicator, keying up a frequency. An older man appeared, "Ah! M'Lord Sith!" Ja'on smiled, "Hello Threed. The transports should have already made it back," the man nodded, "And I have now cleared the weapons factory. There is one severely injured hostage, and two injured but living pirates, plus the remaining hostages. I'm sorry I couldn't stop the one from being hurt, but he will live. Can you send a transport?" Threed had listened, and had nodded along. "I'm glad to hear he will survive, M'Lord. Of course, we'll send a medic transport immediately." Ja'on nodded, "Thank you Threed. I will wait for the medics, once they arrive, I will move to the next." The communicator blinked off, as the hostages came from behind the wall. Serah felt the fear from the people, but felt awe for the man, his skill, power, and the sincere concern for their safety. "M'Lord and Lady Siths! Please, we wish to thank you for...for all this."

Serah nearly laughed out loud at being confused for a Sith, but it made sense. Ja'on had been outed as one by the man Threed, and the two had worked in tandem, almost in perfect sync with each other. Ja'on caught her mirth, his own lips flickering to show his amusement, but that pulled into a sincere smile, his voice in her head, _"Don't deny."_ His real voice was pleasant for the people, though she could feel the fear for the injured man's well being, "Of course! We know full well the importance of this factory, both to the House, as well as the Empire. And any facility is only as well run as its people. I am sorry we couldn't get here just a couple minutes sooner, though." The woman he was talking to, who had spoken up, blushed at the easy smile and pleasant mood, and the Jedi couldn't help but chuckle to herself. While he wasn't relishing the attention, in any way Serah realized, he played it up to keep the people calm. "My companion and I are just glad that we arrived no later. However, she doesn't know the R&D of this facility. Would you mind showing her?" The woman turned to Serah, nodding, "Of course!"

Serah gave Ja'on an off-look, but was escorted away from the office, as the Sith moved to the man, kneeling, and she felt similar energies she used herself flowing from Ja'on, further aiding the injuries. The woman took her to the main floor, "Well, I know that what we develop isn't the greatest, or most offensive, but our work is important!" Serah realized, quickly, that Ja'on had sent her to learn more about the facility, much like sharing the plans about the medical ships. "First, what I'm sure you heard, are our grenades. Next generation EMP pulse grenades." The woman picked up the nearest grenade, handing it to the Jedi. "The new version has nearly doubled the explosion radius of the pulse. Now, normally with EMPs, the larger the radius, the less effective it becomes. But, with the new design and power supply, these are as effective at droid shutdown at full range as previous versions." While technology and droids weren't Serah's forte, what she did know told her that these would wreak havoc on large groups of droids. "Now, our defensive lines will be better prepared to hold off siege droids. And over here!"

The woman led to the next R&D area, Serah depositing the grenade back on the table. "This is more offensive, but only because it deals with blasters. Here, we are working a new version of the capacitor. Of course, as Sith, I doubt you would ever need a blaster, but for us, it's a beauty. The powercell feeds the capacitor, building up the charge, then the energy is fired through the emitter chamber and focusing lens when the trigger is pulled. The new capacitor we're developing will hopefully be more efficient, and allow for a fuller charge!" She grinned at Serah, and the Jedi could feel the pride of the work being done in the woman. She was definitely tied with this project, and was excited in her work. Serah took the bait, "What do you mean fuller charge?" This was the right question, from the spike of eagerness. "Well, normally when you pull the trigger, the capacitor fills, emitter, then lens, right? Well, IF we can get this working, a person would be able to hold the trigger, filling the capacitor more! It's still a work in progress, mind. Right now, in comparison to the normal blaster, it takes ten times the power, for a four times more powerful bolt."

She booted up a display, showing schematics that Serah just couldn't make heads or tails of, but the woman was engrossed, her passion nearly contagious, the Jedi feeling elated herself as the woman got to explain the idea to someone new. "So, right now of course, it's horribly inefficient. BUT what we're working on," the displays flickered through dozens of different images, "Is better channeling, less bleed off, better focus. IF we get it right," she turned to Serah, face alive with excitement, "IF we can do this, for only five times the energy of a single shot, we'll be able to multiply the output by ten times! In essence, the power of two shots for the energy drain of one! Compacting five of those shots into a single blast!" THIS part Serah understood, "So you're saying, you might be able to make a blaster that can put ten shots into a single blast, for half the energy?" The woman nodded enthusiastically. "Only in personal sidearm type pistols, though! Anything bigger would be a waste." Serah blinked, realizing what that meant. The armies didn't fight with pistols. Duelists, and people wanting defense. IF this blaster was made, if it was able to work, would keep people safe. Another defensive weapon.

The display was shut down, the woman embarrassed now. "I'm sorry, I just get excited." Serah realized Ja'on's reason for having her play along with being Sith, these people worked for House Bathera, for the empire. If they knew she was Jedi, they wouldn't be so forthcoming. Serah wasn't sure fully how to react, but grinned, "Not at all. It's...comforting to see someone so passionate about what they do." The woman brightened, then took her to the last area. "Finally, for our organic defenses, we're working on newer concussive and flash grenades. We're trying to eliminate the actual damage from the blast, but can't seem to get the formula right." More defensive weapons. Serah couldn't quite understand the focus, but it did please her. This House, these tasks Ja'on was doing, he KNEW what he would find each time. And that was what drove him, which also made her smile. The woman, seeing that pull of Serah's lips, thought it was about their work. "Soon, though, I'm sure!" The two headed back to the office, and Serah felt the transport arrive, as did Ja'on. The Jedi went to the injured man, and felt him, Ja'on nodding.

The man was in even better condition, the blisters mostly gone now, and she saw that some of the more extensive damage to soft tissue had been healed. This shocked her, but didn't surprise her, since she knew Ja'on had healed Pimm's lung and spine. "They are developing wonderfully," she offered, and his grin showed he understood her meaning. "The transport is here," he finished, the seven healthy hostages heading out as two medics came in holding a stretcher. The four of them transferred the poor man to the stretcher, Ja'on asking, "Guards for the two pirates?" The lead medic shook his head, laughing, "They're taking a slower route. Can they escape?" Serah shook her head, "Not unless they can transform their hands into blades." Once the hostages were loaded, and the transport driving off, Serah voiced, "So, does everything your House work on have almost exclusively defensive uses?" He laughed, and she felt something deep inside him, a hurt, old, never healed right, like a bad scar. "For the most part, yes." The two turned as they saw the guard speeder approaching, heading back to their bikes.

Soon, the two were speeding to the next facility, the comm in her helmet carrying his voice. "This one doesn't have any real and true pressing issues. The people holding it are refugees, though I don't know what planet. It will be dark long before we reach it, so we should stop and camp on the way." Serah nodded, though he couldn't see the movement, "That sounds good, Ja'on. I am concerned though." His voice was curious, "Oh? What about? Those two pirates will be dealt with fairly, and that poor man WILL recover." Serah laughed softly, "Not that. Aren't you going to get in trouble for showing me all this?" It was his turn to laugh, "You know those new combat pain stims? About what, a year and a half now? Genna and I developed those, and I know your republic soldiers have them in auto-injectors in their armor. The non-offensive tech is easily reverse engineered, and spreads between both sides. And to be honest, if the Republic uses similar medical transport ships, or EMP grenades, I'm not going to complain." She could only smirk as he spoke, "Not that I think you'll be able to give those plans to anyone, no offense." Now, her laugh was audible even without the comm, "None taken, because you are quite right!" They continued in a pleasant silence for a little longer, before the sun started to dip behind the horizon, the sky fading to beautiful golds and reds, the bikes coming to a stop.

The two speeders were pulled parallel to each other, about fifteen feet apart. Ja'on cleared a small circle, and found wood on the ground. There were plenty of trees, and dried branches had fallen off. Serah went through her bike, realizing there was a small kit stowed on it, with a sleeping bag, and even a lean-to. The night was clear, and the weather was quite pleasant. However, she had no food, and doubted Ja'on's bike had any as well. The Sith brought the wood back, building a small fire quickly but not lighting it yet, then looked to the woods. Serah felt it now, they were being watched. "Vorn Tiger," he murmured, and she felt a shift in the man, and saw how it affected him. His shoulders hunched, not exactly leaning or hunching over, instead looking much like a feline himself. "She will kill us if we don't stop her," he whispered, and Serah knew this was true, though there was no animosity from the creature, nor from the Sith. "Are...you going to hunt her then?" the Jedi asked, Ja'on nodding. "Plus, Vorn makes good steak," he looked to her, "Unless you don't eat meat?" Serah laughed, shaking her head, "No, no I do eat meat." She blinked, then saw he was gone, the black robes seeming to blend into the shadows of the grass.

He was gone from her sight far faster than she felt comfortable with, though she did notice the Tiger was still focused on her. As the sun vanished more, the shadows lengthening, she felt the hunter move, leaving the treeline, stalking through the grass, seeing the lone woman as easy prey. She kept herself centered within, not exuding her own prowess, knowing it would drive off the tiger for now, but she would be asleep long before the primal hunter. Serah sat, knowing that Ja'on would not let harm come to her, _"But how do I know that?"_ she mused. He was Sith, but never treated Pimm, or herself, as an enemy. But was that truly an ally? Could she count on that man, older than he appeared, his passions intense and powerful, his grief enough to consume any mind, could she count on him to protect her? To protect and help Pimm? Was this just a debt to him? A plot? The more she thought, the more she expanded her ideas, the more conflict and doubt rose in her mind and heart.

She even stopped paying attention to the tiger, _"He knows Pimm desires things from him, inspires those hidden urges within her. Is this just a plot to corrupt her?" Her eyes turned to the sky, the stars coming in brightly, canvassing the darkness with pinpoints of light and cloudy brushes of color. "Does he hope to take her? Mold her? Or is it sincere? WHY do I trust him?"_ She couldn't figure it out, which was why she joined him. To gauge him, but every action, every moment just added to the questions. She felt the movement then, looking over towards the trees.

The tiger had made it halfway to her by now, and saw the flurry of movement. A black shadow leapt from behind, a primal cry escaping the large thing's throat, and she felt from it a moment of pure predatory instinct. Kill or be killed. Hunt or be prey. The tiger turned at the new threat, roaring itself, lunging at the black thing. Only when the beam of pure silver light came into sight did she realize it was him, and in a single, powerful blow, had ended the tiger. He stayed at the spot, and she saw the blade moving, before he finally came over, shanks of tiger meat over his shoulder, and the pelt. "I scattered the bones and buried the innards. That will help nourish the land, and I left extra shanks of the tougher meat for the other creatures," he explained, and she felt a surge from him. Joy, something pure as fighting something that, barring his weapon, could kill him. It wasn't the death, but the challenge, the stalking, the knowledge that he was an equal. She realized he only used the lightsaber to limit risk, but respected the creature he ended. For that moment, he was part of the cycle of nature, instead of an observer.

And seeing him in that moment, she saw herself. Serah trusted him, because he DID live in the moment. He was part of the living Force, just as she was. She never felt duplicity, because he didn't have any traitorous thoughts. The honor he exemplified wasn't a mask, but the truth. There was more, there always was, he even admitted to being more than anything he appeared to be. But, then, it made sense. A slave freed by his power, a Sith who loved instead of using, a diplomat and ambassador while being a primal hunter. To underestimate him would be foolish, even deadly, but she realized that if he wanted to hurt, he wouldn't hide behind a mask of pleasantness. He dropped the meat and fur, and looked at the wood, before she felt a small surge, smelled ozone, and an arc of lightning jumped from his hand to the circle, igniting the fire.

He saw her smile turn to a tight line, and his head tilted. "What," he asked, and she shook her head. "Just the blatant displays you use. Some are impressive, but that?" This drew a laugh and she looked at him as he skewered the meat on a pair of sticks, and started cooking it. "Please, Serah," he began, and the lack of chiding or superiority was evident. "The Force, no matter how it is used, is a tool. When you are part of the living Force, part of the moment, with calmness in mind and heart, you serve. When you are immersed in yourself, emotions high, with selfish intent, you use. But in the end, the power itself? Is a tool." Her head tilted as he spoke, leaning forward. He knew of, preached even, aspects of the Jedi beliefs. He wasn't being contrary, she realized, but almost philosophical. "Lightning is just energy, after all. It ignited the wood. There was no emotion behind the action, just a use of power. The use of a tool. Any can learn to channel their energies, to project the electrons, to ignite that ionic shift. Of course, something so chaotic is going to be much stronger when an emotion peaking is WHY it happens, but the act itself is as innocent as walking or breathing."

Serah was quiet as he spoke, and she knew he was right, in his own way. Using the Force in any capacity wasn't in and of itself an act towards the Light or Dark. The intent, the reasons, those are what drove that shift. "So, I have a tool at my disposal, that I use in atypical ways. If I had a firestarter in the bike, I would have used that. But this was faster." He grinned at her over the firelight, and she felt what wasn't said. "Not easier...faster. It wasn't a crutch, wasn't an all-answer. But here and now, the best tool he had." She nodded slowly, "I...I apologize for judging," she offered, and his smile brightened. "Thank you, and accepted, Serah." He fell quiet as the meat cooked, drippings sizzling as they hit the wood, his gaze drawn back towards House Alde's direction. She realized he wasn't just generally staring, though, his face fixed on a specific spot. "May I ask," she started, and he nodded. "The Mountains beyond House Alde, from this direction. The Starri range." His tone and mood shift told her to press further was dangerous territory, so she let it lie.

The two sat in silence while the meat finished cooking, the fire giving a small amount of light, good heat, and a lot of smoke. Once the shanks were done, he pulled them off, letting one cool while tearing the other into strips, the two eating. Ja'on looked to the sky, and Serah felt what drew his eyes an instant later. "Someone offworld is in trouble," he murmured, and Serah nodded in agreement. Neither seemed to be able to place where or who, but something was strong enough in the galaxy to reach them.

The next morning, they woke, stowed their sleeping gear, and he reheated the second cut of meat, which they shared for breakfast. Before starting their speeders, "This is a medical research facility. The good kind," he said, laughing as her face first drew into the look of someone afraid to ask. "Refugees have taken it, from what I was informed, they're desperate." He locked gazes with her, and she felt his wall lowered, his voice and emotions sincere, "I don't want a single one of them injured, Serah. If I can't reach them, please help them?" The need to ensure these poor deposed people he had never met nearly overwhelmed her, and she could only smile, "Of course Ja'on." A few moments later, they were off.

Serah looked back before they opened their throttles. The fire pit was not visible, and she saw the tiger's bones scattered far, and saw the few pieces of meat he mentioned, half eaten. And before they hit full acceleration, those few signs they had been stopped were gone.

A while later, the sun well above the landscape, the two slowed as the next facility came into view. It was secluded, tucked into the side of a hill, with a path leading up to the entrance. The two speeders slowed, stopped, and were killed. Serah felt into the facility as she could, sensing the people. They were afraid, hurting. There was a firm determination as well, something she couldn't quite grasp. The two approached the entrance, but each ducked behind a rock as a laser blast from the sentry hit the ground between them. "Come no further!" A man called from the roof, voice firm, but tight. Ja'on looked to her, then called to the man, "We didn't come to fight you! We want to help!" As the Sith looked around the corner, another blast forced his head back. "I SAID stay back! We know Bathera serves the Empire, and you're here to take this place back. We're going to leave when we can, and we wanted to be gone already. But now that you're here, I have to defend it!"

Serah looked to Ja'on at the adamant refusal and the intent to defend the facility. While the Sith's wall was there, his frustration was felt, but this drew the Jedi's attention. His frustration wasn't with the person with the rifle on the roof. It was with the inability to easily make them understand, and this drove him inward, an intent to calm himself. She felt a pulse, and saw the man's hand on the rock he was hiding behind, but wasn't sure what he was doing as he called back, "Friend, listen! We're not here to drive you out! We're a pair of Force users," and he trailed off. Serah felt it too, an odd sorrow mixed with determination from the man on the roof. She couldn't hear the man's voice, but his mind all but shouted it, _"Sith."_

While she was trying to figure out what exactly she felt, Ja'on's eyes went wide. A blur of action, his lightsaber was off his belt, and she now realized he had bored a hole in the rock with a subsonic vibration, generated by pulsing the Force. The hilt went into the hole in the rock, and then he was in the open, hands up, "Don't! Please don't!" This made a pause in the moment, and in spite of being unable to tell what, Serah knew that something horrible was on the verge of occurring. "Listen! My friend is a Jedi! Jedi Master! Look at me, I have no lightsaber, and am trying to talk, nothing more! I won't lie, I'll never be able to attain the rank of Knight, friend," Serah felt the anxiety and nervousness from Ja'on, and noticed the slip from his more formal speaking to a more common style, "I'm too emotional. But, I AM trained in healing with the Force!"

The silence after that statement drug on, before the man called, "You sure don't sound like a Sith. But I don't buy that you're unarmed!" Ja'on laughed, tight but warm, "I'm not! I have a blaster in my boot, and a knife under my left sleeve. But I AM a healer, so I don't worry too much about attacking, just defense!" The tension grew, Serah able to feel the other man's hope and fears battling each other, "How do I know you're telling the truth?!" Ja'on smiled, taking a few, slow steps closer, "Well, you seem to know a little about the Sith, right? Obviously I'm not attacking you. What else do you know?" The other man's voice was quiet a moment, then, "They are evil, horrible, love pain. And that's why they have red lightsabers." Serah felt the stab of annoyance mixing with resignation, and she shared the underlying humor at the misinformation of the red lightsabers.

"Ok, friend, then let me ask you this. If my companion has a lightsaber that isn't red, what would that mean?" None of the emotions Ja'on felt bled into his voice, just a soft prompt and hope. "Then, I dunno. That they are Jedi?" Ja'on nodded, "I'm going to ask Master Serah to activate her blade, and just show it from behind the rock, ok? Don't shoot me, please!" A moment passed, and then he turned a bit towards her, "Serah, would you please?" She pulled her saber off her belt, activating it, the blue beam of light extending from the hilt. She then extended her arm, the beam becoming visible to the man on the roof, and Ja'on turned back. She felt what was going to happen just before it did, though the Sith seemed to not notice. She was moving as the laser bolt fired from the rifle, her weapon too slow to get in the way to defend him, before the shot smashed into Ja'on's thigh.

"SON OF A NERF-HERDER!" he cried out, loudly, dropping to the ground, hands on his thigh, before she was in front of him, a shield. She didn't understand, Pimm had told her from the first time her padawan met this man he could deflect lasers with his hand alone. He was able to push himself to incredible speeds. He could detect thoughts and emotions, see the events unfolding. And yet, he was now on the ground, shot, her eyes on the man on the roof. Ja'on spoke, loud enough for the other man to hear, "Don't, Master Serah! I know you agreed to help keep me safe and heal those we can, but they are scared." She blinked, then saw the events unfold.

Had he deflected, or dodged, the man's desperation would have taken grip, and that tragedy she still couldn't see would have occurred. If Ja'on had stayed back so she could have deflected the laser, the man would never trust them. But now, wounded, but not angry, in fact defending their actions against him, she felt the other man's resolve to keep the two away crumble. She called loudly, "Are you done assaulting us? My friend is being truthful, that we only want to help you, and you've just shot him. I understand your fear, but I cannot allow you to harm him further, and if you try again, we will leave you to your own fates." No anger, though a little chiding, and the effect was noticeable, "I'm...I'm sorry! Yes, I'm done. Please, Master Jedi, please help us?"

The beam of energy faded, and she felt the Force pulsing behind her, and turned back as Ja'on stood, his robes showing the shot, his skin clean beneath the hole. She met his gaze, _"Dangerous game, why?"_ His own face just pulled into a sad smile, and she saw the rest of the picture, the refugees inside, lightly armed, desperate to find the aid they need, but none would ever be taken by the Sith. Had the lookout transmitted a coded word, they would all have turned their weapons on themselves. Once her eyes cleared, he was already walking past her to the facility, "If they ask, please surrender your lightsaber. Just take the power supply out first."

Serah turned, eyes on the back of Ja’on’s head. He could overpower these people, and his goal was to get them out of the facility. Instead of the easy way, however, he was working to a peaceful resolution. The pirates being killed made sense. They were a real danger. Even Serah would have ended that threat after the poor hostage was hit with the flamer. But here, the Sith was making it as difficult as he could, for himself, working towards a resolution that she herself would be trying. She caught up with him, felt the ache of the healed wound, but his mind was at peace. Not the wall, though she knew if she probed it would be up, but his outward emotion was peace. Now, she began to see the frustration Pimm had so long ago, saying he would be a better Jedi than herself. He wasn’t afraid to use force, but it was a final option in most cases. But now, Serah felt doubt, “How much is just show? Is this truly his drive? Is it just to deceive her and myself?” In spite of that fear, that uncertainty, she still didn’t feel any deception. She didn’t realize these refugees’ desperation until he shared the vision. What let him see it so fast?

She followed him to the facility, the doors opening as they reached. There were two more guards, tired and stressed. Ja’on stopped, reaching down, making a show of not using the Force for anything except to heal, and pulled the blaster from his boot. He handed it, grip first, to the guard, “I told the guy on the roof I had this, and a knife. I want to show I meant what I said about helping, so I’m giving this to you for now.” The refugee stared at the weapon before taking it, nodding. Then Ja’on pulled out the knife, Serah recognizing the material, though these people didn’t. Now unarmed, save for the Force, Ja’on worked his way back.

He met the leader, Serah following to catch the conversation. “We’re refugees, made it here from Dantooine. The number of times our planet has been hit, we’re desperate.” He and Ja’on had taken seats, the large Sith looking sincerely interested in their plight, concern on his face. “So we traveled, trying to find a new home. Pirates. Wildlife. We...we don’t know what to do. Once we made it here, we have no money. And a few of us are injured,” the man’s voice shook, and Serah felt the pain of loss. Ja’on finished the sentence, “And you need medicine. Kolto. And can’t afford it.” The other man nodded, and Ja’on stood. “I..I can’t help with the money situation, friend, but I can at least heal your wounded.”

Serah and Ja’on were led to a small office, five people laid out. The pain from their minds was intense. One man had an arm that had been forcefully amputated, a woman with multiple wounds. A second man was dying, a chest wound, and a third had suffered multiple blaster wounds. The fifth was a girl, and this made the two Force sensitives gasp. Serah felt Ja’on’s wall crack, the girl’s pain hitting him hard. She was a child, maybe eight or nine, and was suffering some form of internal poisoning. He went to the man with the chest wound first, pointing at the man with the blaster wounds for Serah. The two knelt by their patients as the leader watched. Silent, the two centered themselves, then reached out, slowly knitting the wounded people together. Serah finished quickly, then moved to the amputated man, the arm stump showing signs of teeth marks. Most likely a predator. The man Ja’on was working on coughed up a brackish, dark brown substance, and the Sith moved to the woman. Serah had to focus, healing and curing the man before her. The wound had become infected, the tendons and muscle shredded. She couldn’t regrow the limb, but was able to properly seal the wound. By the time she had finished, Ja’on was at the child, tears running freely down his face as he worked. Slowly, she saw the girl’s aura grow stronger, the leader approaching her.

“What happened?” she asked him softly. In an equally quiet tone, “Just...life. The man he healed had fallen onto a spike. My wife mauled by the Manka she tried to save her brother from. He lost his arm before she got him away. Lathis was shot by the guards as we took this, though they left once we had made it in.” Both watched as Ja’on worked, “And the girl?” The leader’s voice cracked, “My daughter. A mine. She was far enough away, but the shrapnel hit her. Been poisoning her since. And she has a couple implants, the shrapnel and poison has been making them short out, always in pain.” Serah didn’t respond, eyes on the Sith now. He was desperate, seeing in this one child the two things he had loved and lost: his son’s death, and his wife’s suffering. She touched his mind, only lightly, _“..ot this time. Not this time. Not this time. Not this time. Not….”_ over and over, his only thought. He was working manically, healing her four different ways all at once, pulling out the shrapnel, stopping the pain, healing the wounds, and draining out the poison in her cells. She realized suddenly he wasn’t just curing the girl, he was absorbing the poison into himself!

She moved to him, resting her hands on his back, pushing into his mind. To the refugees, it was calm, just the Jedi helping, but she and he knew better. _“Don’t do this! You will suffer and die yourself!”_ Her urging did nothing, but felt now the poison was hurting him, but he was unconcerned about it, knowing he could heal himself after. Instead, she focused, curing him properly as he continued to work on the girl. Finally, over an hour later, her implants were functional without pain, her body whole, the offending metal all removed. She woke up, running to her father, the family whole, and Serah felt it from Ja’on, the bitter taste of jealousy. He wanted his wife, his son, to hold them, to be together. But that very quickly faded into guilt, shame, and ended in the peaceful glow of thankfulness. This family would stay together because of him and her. Serah watched him, knowing he wasn’t meaning to project his emotions, but that earnest sensation made her, if anything, appreciate him.

Once he was ready, they met up with the leader again. “I...I don’t know what to say,” the refugee started, and Ja’on, no longer looking like it was his own child he was healing, just laughed. “Nothing to be said, friend! I’m just glad we made it here. Now, you’re right, this is a House Bathera facility, so you all should clear out quickly. But,” he pulled out another cred stick, handing it to the man. “It’s not much, just a thousand, but you need it more than me. Get yourselves to one of the republic friendly houses. Alde or Organna. They ought to put you up, if you’re willing to work.” Serah felt the twinge after the words were out of his mouth, knowing that House Alde would out him as Sith if they went there, but now it wouldn’t matter, since they were safe. The group gathered their things, grateful, and left together, heading to House Organa.

“Lord Bathera really gave you thirty-one thousand credits for negotiations?” Serah asked when they were alone, and Ja’on started to assess the facility for damage. He shook his head, laughing, “No. But I don’t have many expenses, and I’m not going to let a little cred stop me from getting this mission done right.” As he brought the computers up, scanning through security recordings, she felt the not-spoken words, “I’m not failing Jaxus.” Serah felt guilty at the probes, and the constant doubt, asking, “Why not?” Ja’on paused, then continued his work. “His family isn’t at fault for these delays in delivering their assets. But the Empire isn’t forgiving. If I manage to get the shipment together fast enough, no harm will come. If the Empire decides the delays are intentional, however,” he just stopped talking, Serah taking the meaning quickly.

She moved to him now, as the security feeds ended, the projects coming up now. “A new, synthetic variation of Kolto. If they manage to get this working, it’ll lower reliance on the natural material, lowering costs. Making it affordable.” Serah whistled, knowing VERY well what that would mean for the galaxy as a whole. “And here, wide range disbursement, spray applicators. It will let groups of people who are lightly wounded be healed in a single dose.” Serah nodded, understanding what it meant. “Yet more defensive technology. Ones that the whole galaxy will quickly have. Soldiers to farmers, and everyone between will benefit from this technology, won’t they?” The Sith nodded, and Serah truly became confused.

Jaxus “The Jackal” Bathera was known for his reputation of being ruthless, cold blooded. He had personally had multiple families, all lower houses, killed, taking their lands, facilities. And yet, here he was, almost every aspect his Family worked on was defensive measures. Things to help. The difference made her shake her head, knowing that this situation was another like what Ja’on had spoken of, with far more happening than what one first saw, and she felt she would learn the whole truth by staying with the Sith.

Ja’on used his personal holo communicator to call the man Threed again, “The medical facility is handled, Threed. The refugees needed supplies, but left without taking any. Won’t be a problem again.” The old man nodded, voice tight, “I see, M’Lord.” Ja’on laughed, “No. Not like that. I healed their wounded, and sent them to another House where their actions won’t be a detriment.” The other man brightened, nodding, “Oh! Forgive me, I just…” Ja’on cut him off with a shake of his head. “Not at all, Threed. Not at all.” The comm ended, and he turned to her. “One last facility. I will be dealing with the Killiks.” This made her pause, and he laughed, softly, “I understand if you won’t join me.” His amusement wasn’t at her expense, she realized, but the situation itself. She shook her head, “No, I’ll join you.”

Twenty minutes later, they were speeding over the landscape, his lightsaber reclaimed, on his belt, the two heading towards the final factory. Her comm clicked on, “This is a starship component factory. The Killik are definitely dangerous, but not thoughtless. Very evolved, and have a hive mind. We CAN negotiate, but it will not be like anything you’ve experienced. Just, don’t eat anything.”

They pulled to a stop hours later, she realizing how far away it really was. The factory was on a mountain to their right, but he had not led her to it, instead staying on the lowlands. He set up camp, the night beginning to close in on them again, pointing to the woods near the base of the mountain, “The nest will be there. Best to go in at dawn.” During the night, the two felt that ping of pain from offworld again, this one softer than the first, and no clearer as to who it could be. In the morning, they left their bikes, moving into the woods. It was cool, the light lower, and smelled odd. The entrance to the nest was found, easily, following the signs of hive building. Ja’on drew his saber, but left it off, Serah following suit. They entered the cave of the nest, the noise within was grating. Clicking, clattering, chitin on rock. “Keep your back away from the walls, and don’t attack.” The noise grew louder, and Serah saw what he meant, the huge insects coming at them from all angles. They had weapons, polearms and spears, and she heard the insects chattering as they surrounded the two humans. Two snaps of sound, blue and silver lights glowing in the darkness. They were surrounded, and though the insects didn’t press an attack, their own weapons were at the ready.

Serah’s mind was awash. The thoughts from these creatures so alien, but some emotions familiar. They were defending their home. Everything else, she couldn’t get or understand. Ja’on leveled his blade at the creatures, Serah mimicking his actions. The two, back to back, circled, establishing a perimeter, the Killiks not encroaching yet. Ja’on spoke, “Joiner.” Serah had no clue what this was, but the chittering grew louder, the insects starting to close in, before she smelt the ozone, the electricity crawling on his arm giving them pause. “Joiner.” That word again, though the Killick did respond, their own weapons lowering. Something was happening, and Serah couldn’t follow it. “They communicate through pheromones and the chittering. I can understand some of it, but not all. Not by a long shot. A Joiner will be coming, and we can communicate with them.” Serah nodded, and the two stayed at the ready until the insects all moved, and Serah gasped. A woman, human, Alderaanian, came into their circle. The reason for the gasp was the woman’s eyes were solid black, and her mind had both normal thoughts and the confusing, alien ones. The woman looked at the two lightsabers, then the Force users. “Invading home. Why.”

Ja’on lowered, then deactivated his lightsaber, “To talk.” Serah lowered her own lightsaber, but the blue light stayed on. The woman, this Joiner, tilted her head. “Both strong. But different strong. Why.” Ja’on offered a smile, “I’m Sith. She’s Jedi.” Serah nodded in agreement, the woman’s confusion plain on her face and mind, the insects around them chittering as the thought was communicated. “But, Sith and Jedi fight. They are enemies always.” Ja’on shook his head, hooking his lightsaber to his belt. “Different nests does not mean always enemies.” This had a noticeable effect on the Killiks now, they all backing off a few paces. Finally, “What is it you want to talk about?” The woman’s mind shifted, far more human than before, Ja’on responding by sitting on the ground, and Serah deactivated her blade finally. “The factory on top. The nest is inhibiting it, I want to talk about why, and how to end it.” The joiner nodded, softly, “I see. The nest needs materials on top, for eggs, as well as space.” Ja’on nodded, understanding, “I see. But by moving there, you endanger another family. The factory makes starship parts, the family needs them to fill an obligation. By preventing their use of their facility, they are endangered. Life at risk.” Serah stared at Ja’on, realizing this was the truth. “Can we work together? Find a way for both nest and family to gain what they need?” There was silence, though Serah felt the voiceless communication, finally, “Perhaps. Suggestions?” Her mind had fallen to the far more alien thoughts now, and Ja’on responded, “The side of the top. Useless to us, no waste, space and materials available.” The Joiner nodded, and asked, “Trust?” To this, Ja’on pulled out his communicator, Threed popping up quickly, “Yes M’Lord?”

“Threed, I am negotiating with the Killiks now. They are willing to withdraw from the factory, if they can have the North exposure of the mountain.” Threed looked at Ja’on long and hard, and Serah could feel the suspicion through the communicator. “One moment,” and he vanished. A minute later, Jaxus appeared. “Darth Junath, can we trust them?” The Joiner’s voice grew hard, “We say the nest will withdraw. We do not wish harm on family, on other nest. But we are doubted?” Jaxus turned, looking at the woman, “A Joiner. My apologies, please. Most of the encounters I have heard of, negotiations are difficult at best, impossible the norm. I swear, if this offer is sincere, and will be held, I will never raise my hand against your nest.” The Joiner’s face softened, “It is sincere. We did not want to hurt, and are sorry for it.” The two looked at each other for a moment, then Ja’on spoke, “Does the Nest agree?” The Joiner nodded, “Lord Bathera, will you honor the deal?” Jaxus smiled, “Of course!”

The two Force users left after a short bit of discussion, stating exact lines, possible future negotiations, and the like. The two sped to the checkpoint and Serah felt she understood Ja’on far better now. He was honorable, saw the Jedi and the republic as opposition, but not specifically enemies. He didn’t desire their destruction, but fought them because of his reasons for being Sith. The exact reason he WAS Sith was beyond her at this point, but she knew he valued the openness and willingness to talk over fight in her and Pimm. And, as perplexing as it was, she knew, beyond a doubt, that he did not look down on Jedi practices. If anything, he did believe in them, at least a little bit.

Finally, Serah’s curiosity got the best of her. “What was that woman?” she asked over the comm. “A joiner. The Killiks communicate through pheromones and the chitter, right? Well, if a human is exposed for too long, and eating food prepared by them accelerates that, they become...well. Part of the hive.” He was quiet as that sank into Serah’s mind. “They retain intelligence, but their life is part of the nest. They have joined, hence the term. The only way to separate them is to kill them. Definitely not worth it. However, the Killiks do not join people forcefully. It just happens sometimes.”

The two reached the checkpoint, pulling their speeders into the garage. As they left, Ja’on turning to her, and she felt a spike of annoyance before he spoke, turning from her to look at the approaching guard. He came to a halt before the Sith, “Ambassador,” fear in the man, but respect nonetheless. Ja’on nodded, “You are summoned to House Alde, please.” Ja’on sighed, and nodded, turning back to collect a vehicle. “No need, Sir. The Captain is here already.” One last nod, and he and Serah went to where the Captain was, and were soon on their way back to House Alde. “Count Alde has returned,” Alvond was saying, “And he wishes to speak to you, and apologize for what had happened before.” Ja’on stiffened, and Serah felt his wall build itself in an instant.

Soon, they were walking up the steps of the House, through the halls, and into the Hall. As the door opened, Serah saw only the vulnerable Count and Ceci were present. The Count looked bored, and she felt his desire to remain proper being the only reason this audience was happening. “Thank you for returning ambassador. My family has informed me of the going ons around in my absence, and I wish to apologize, firstly, for the unfortunate events. And second, to thank you, for being part of the three who saved my granddaughter.” He finally looked at the Sith, and Serah felt time seem to freeze, before the old man croaked out, “Ja’on?”

Serah looked to the Sith, wondering how the Count knew the Sith’s name, since she knew everyone he had spoken to only knew him by this title. “Ja’on?! That is you!” Ceci was confused, shocked, as the man stood, and all but ran to the Sith. Serah could feel it, the wall strengthening, hearing one repeating thought, _“strong,”_ over and over. As the Count reached the Sith, “My grandson! You’ve come home!” His hands were on Ja’on’s face, shoulders, looking over him. “Just like I remember you! Ja’on, it’s me! Grapah!” All bearing, all nobility was gone, but Serah didn’t feel confusion in the man, no signs of senility. He recognized Ja’on. The Sith, however, was cool, “I’m sorry, M’Lord, but who are you talking about?”

Count Alde froze, hands coming to Ja’on’s robes, gripping them, “My grandson, Ja’on, you! You look just like the last time I saw you. Please! Please tell me you recognize me!” Slowly, Ja’on shook his head. “M’Lord, you must be confused. I am Sith. Darth Junath. Have been for twenty five years.” Count Alde’s eyes began to glisten, tears forming in the corners, though Ja’on did soften, taking the old man’s hands in his. “You have to understand, I can’t be your grandson.” A memory, from the Count, hit Serah now.

Thirty five years earlier, the two men exactly as they were now, Count Alde sad, begging with his grandson, as the young man held his hands. “You have to understand! I can’t be JUST your grandson! You rose me with honor, duty, and loyalty! After mother and father died…..I….” The two men bowed their heads. “I can do good out there, Grandfather. REAL good. I mean, I am not an Alde by name, because Mother married Father. This will help clear up any succession issues, and you know I always am loyal. Nothing will ever change that.” Count Alde chuckled, “A True Son to the end?” The two raised their heads to look at each other. “Who else could I be, Grapah.” The two laughed at the term, Count Alde shaking his head. “You used that word when you were two.” Ja’on chuckled, “Well, to be fair, Darian used it first.” The memory was stabbed with a grief from the two, “Your brother was fine man,” the count said, as tears streamed down Ja’on’s face. “I am sorry, Grandfather, for not saving him. I tried.” The Count embraced the taller man, “Shush, I know you did. No one blamed you, ever.” The two parted, and Ja’on turned and walked out. “I’ll call when I’m settled. I may even write.” He grinned, and the memory faded.

“But...why?” the count croaked, and Serah felt recognition from Ceci now. Not a personal recognition, but from images and holos. This plea, so heartbroken, cracked the wall in Ja’on’s head, and Serah felt the pain, the need, the desire to admit the truth, to embrace the man, the crushing sensation of having to not, that pit of grief in his heart. “If I were your grandson, a Sith Lord, the Dark Council’s right hand? How much turmoil, pain, and suffering would happen?” The Count’s eyes fells, the Sith squeezing the man’s hands fondly. Ceci finally spoke, “And only a True Son of Alderaan would not claim a false title for personal gain, Grandfather.” Ja’on nodded to the girl, then released the Count’s hands, taking two steps back, and turning. Before he left the hall, Count Alde spoke, “Sith?” Ja’on paused, “If you do, ever, see my grandson? If he has even a fifth of the honor you are presenting, tell him he always can come home. Please.” Ja’on didn’t turn back, though Serah felt his heart screaming to do so, to stay, but he nodded. “If I see your grandson, Count Alde, I will.” And then he was gone.

Count Alde excused himself, retiring, and Serah felt the man’s grief. He didn’t believe Ja’on was not his grandson, but knew he was right. Ceci came to Serah, a datapad out. She showed the Jedi, “Grandfather’s first daughter, my namesake. Cecilia Ruthium Alde.” A beautiful woman on her wedding day, “She met a man, not even a full lower house noble, but he had great ambitions, great ideas. They married, Cecilia giving up rank for him, and elevating him to Noble status. They had two children. Darian and Ja’on.” The boys showed up next, and Serah could see the similarities to the man she knew, “When Ja’on was six, the shuttle they were in crashed. Darian died. When Ja’on was twelve, a noble who Cecilia never had interest in tried to seduce her from her husband. She refused, and he hired assassins from House Rist to kill them. Ja’on survived, and then killed all the assassins.” Serah shook her head, the events far too close for comfort that she had seen in his head. “And his father’s name?” If it was the same, she knew Ja’on had sacrificed far more of his happiness, as Ceci said “Dran. Dran Starri.” Serah blinked, twice, looking at Ceci. The look was question enough, and the girl nodded, “The Mountains. It’s where they lived. Grandfather renamed them after their deaths.” Serah looked out, the direction the Sith had walked. Coming home, as an enemy of his own family. “Why would he work so hard for House Bathera?” Serah mused out loud.

Ceci, not realizing the question wasn’t for her, answered, “If that was my Cousin, Master Jedi. He was lost to us defending House Bathera.” Serah turned back, eyes widening. “Yeah. Thirty five years ago, Bathera and Alde were friendly. Ja’on followed Ingus Bathera, helping form a village. Ja’on was the head of the town’s militia. Ingus and Ja’on worked, always, on trying to sway the Houses to focus on other technology. Defenses, medical, and the like. When the Harvesters came, most of the adults died. Lord Jaxus, he was six at the time I think? He was taught to pilot various craft. He flew the survivors out. It actually made him who he is. The families he razed since were the ones working against his father. And after he had their lands, he has only focused on defensive and healing technology.” That explained the rest.

Ja’on had failed to save that boy’s family thirty five years ago, and was ensuring that he would not fail the boy again. In spite of the desire to come home, to his family, Ja’on gave it up because the Sith would force him to turn Alde to the Empire if it was known, or driven Alderaan’s forces to wipe the family out if he refused. The man carried much grief, weight, and pain on this planet, but only by separating herself from the whole situation, was Serah able to see the picture. As the man left, his shadow growing smaller, she felt the truth of the matter. In spite of calling himself Sith, Ja’on Starri would make a great Jedi. He seemed dedicated to the light, but for whatever reason, his path walked another. Ceci’s voice was quiet, fearful, and awed, “Was that really my cousin, Master Jedi?” Serah tightened her lips, turning to Ceci, “You heard him, Ceci. He can’t be.” Ceci nodded, looking down, “I wish he could be. I grew up hearing how honorable, how GOOD my cousin was. And seeing the Sith now, his skills, his dedication. We’ve heard how you two handled the various facilities….if that man was my Cousin, I would be honored.” Serah nodded, looking back out the hall, feeling Darth Junath’s power fade as he moved, and right at the edge of detection, felt the spike of grief and loneliness, held in check only by the needs of his home.


	13. Interlude: Alderaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on, Serah, and Pimm deal with leaving the planet of nobles.

Ja'on had boarded the Jade Eagle, launching from Alderaan. Once in space, he set for a random dark place, not unreachable, but quiet. After dropping from hyperspace, he used the ship's holocommunicator to reach the Admiralty. "Darth Junath," the Imperial officer spoke, "We have just received the shipment from House Bathera. How did the mission go?" The Sith laughed, pouring himself a whiskey, "Four days, Admiral. How do you think?" The other man just chuckled.

"I do have a question, though." The officer had been ready to cut the comm, but paused, "M'Lord?" Ja'on took the first sip, locking gazes with the man. "What will your report read?" The officer balked, just a bit, mouth and throat working, as though unsure how to answer. "Tha..That you assisted the House, regaining them control of their assets." Ja'on nodded, still locking gazes. "Any word of my methods?" The Admiral shook his head, "Minus the fact you were betrayed by a noble, who was executed for his transgression, we have no word on your actual work, M'Lord." Ja'on nodded, "That is not important to the report, Admiral. Leave it out." The officer nodded, understanding.

"Finally, your assessment of the Lord Bathera." The officer smiled, "M'Lord, the whole reason I asked for help in having a, how did the nobility put it? 'A favorable outcome' of the situation was to ensure that the House stayed whole." Ja'on nodded, and the officer brought his fingers to his throat. "Admiral. I have a VESTED interest in that house. If you do not do everything you feasibly can to ensure no harm comes to that family, I will hold you responsible." The officer, realizing how light the grip was, nodded, "I do understand M'Lord. The report will look very favorably on the House." Ja'on nodded, releasing the grip, "Ensure you do."

The comm died, and the Sith went to his room, pulling the weapon case from his wardrobe. First the blaster, then the Phrick blade, and finally the lightsaber were all slotted. Looking at the box for a long minute, he finally waved his hand along the side of it. A small drawer popped out, and R7 gave a soft, inquisitive series of beeps. Ja'on pulled the old, but well taken care of signet ring from the padded drawer, looking at the embossed S, overlaying a subdued A. "Grandfather is well, R7, no worries there." More beeps, "I'm sad. He actually saw me this time, and I had to leave." A disappointed low whistle, "I know. I miss him too." Putting the signet ring, the only physical reminder he had of his parents left, back in the drawer, he closed the box, and began to meditate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A day after leaving Alderaan, Master Serah was before the Jedi Council. Satele was regarding her solemnly, the other members of the Council with faces ranging from disbelief to perplexed. "Please, say that again, Master Serah?" The human sighed, heavily, but not from annoyance. "It is as I said. Darth Junath can easily be the biggest threat to the Jedi Order I have ever seen. Even more so than the Emperor." The council members began to mutter to themselves.

"What makes you say that," Nikil Nobil asked. "Because, he doesn't seek to destroy us," Serah responded. "He is trained, has knowledge. More, he believes in us, in our mission. When he speaks of the Jedi Ideal, it isn't a perversion, or a mocking attitude. He KNOWS the Jedi Order's philosophy as well as any of us in this room." Bela Kiwiiks laughed, softly, "Then it should be a simple matter to bring him fully to the light."

Serah shook her head, "No. Because he more than believes, but in the deepest parts of his heart and mind, he KNOWS we are wrong." The murmuring from the members died at this, and Satele spoke softly, "Explain what you mean, please." To this, Serah took a deep breath, and began to pace. "While on Alderaan, I spent three days with him. There is no question he is from there, he knows their customs and practices too well for any other home. As such, he knew the twists, the turns, how this House versus that House would work."

The Council was quiet as she worked through her thoughts and observations. "I could see it at every point. He has noble bearing, but can drop it to bond with commoners. He allowed his emotions to surge, but kept up appearances at every turn. His outrage or sorrow at this moment, prompted diplomacy and deference at that moment." A few of the Council members looked to each other, concern filling their faces.

Still moving, Serah continued. "And that practice, those thoughts, drove his use of the Force. Drives who HE is." She finally stopped, looking at them. "He is our greatest enemy, not because he wishes us ill, Masters. He is our enemy because even I wanted to follow him by the end. Much like Revan, he isn't a threat for force or strength, but for conviction, for ideas, for being right without saying anyone else is wrong."

Tol Braga rested his hands on the table, leaning forward, "Then, you are saying we must destroy him, for our own order's safety?" Serah shook her head, anger spiking, "Not at all! If anything, we should never rise against him!" The entire council looked at each other and back. Serah took a calming breath, "He believes in our mission. His own is the same. For WHATEVER reason he claims Sith, he is not. His only, truest concerns were to minimize loss of life, followed by honorable dealings. He is loyal to them, but he is not them. His mission is NOT our destruction."

Satele spoke, "But if that is the case, how is he our enemy? Why should we not rise against him as a threat." Serah looked at Satele, locking gazes, "Because if he decided we ARE his enemies, how many Sith, Imperials, and then members of our own order will he sway under his command?" No one moved, made a sound, processing that thought. "He knows our beliefs and does not mock them. But how easy would it be to rally our own padawans and knights to his side by showing flaws? History is on his side. And I know he has far more training than just the Sith Academy. Before he was taken there, he was already well trained in the Force. Using it to augment his body, his mind. To heal wounds in himself and others. He KNOWS things he should not."

Satele finally spoke, "Then, what do you suggest?" Serah shook her head, pacing again. "I don't know. I know for a fact he will not join the Jedi Order. His own beliefs, his emotions are too strong. But neither does he look down on us. In all honesty, I doubt he would join even if we could trust him to, as to not dishonor us." She stopped moving, finger and thumb on the bridge of her nose. Finally, her arm dropped, looking at the Council, "My true suggestion? So long as our paths do not come in direct conflict, we consider him more an independent. A possible ally, as he has proven in the past. One we can approach, and trust. But that means that, should our paths conflict with each other's, we can trust him to be loyal to the Sith and Empire."

The Council was quiet for a few minutes, then Satele spoke, "Very well. For the time being, we will consider Darth Junath as one who is not explicitly an enemy." Tol Braga was looking at the table, deep in thought. "So long as our paths do not cross as enemies, we will not treat him as such. How far, do you think, he would go to remain loyal, Serah?" The human looked at the Kel'Dor, "If pushed, I doubt he would hesitate to kill any of us. But I believe, truly believe, that would be a final resort for him. Even the loss of life from pirates who would use a flamer on a hostage weighed on him. But if it was truly a kill or die situation, he would not hesitate. He would face us as an honorable foe." The council was quiet, thinking about what all could be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a week now since leaving Alderaan. Pimm was hiding in a small alley on Nar Shaddaa. For R&R she had come to the city to escape, relax, and maybe find some closure. Instead, it had been days since food or water, a building level of sedatives in her blood, and a constant chase. Upon landing, however, she quickly found out that she was, by the records, still a slave to Rayf, and in escapee status. She had been found in the first bar she stopped at, and her drink drugged.

She managed to escape the bar, but since then, she had been pursued. Not relentlessly, however, since the cartels marked her as a public escapee. No taxi would take her, the starport guards were on the lookout, she didn't have a private ship, and most establishments would detain her if found. She had very few options, and her pursuers, each time they found her, were working to detain and capture, not kill. So sedative dart, stun blasters, and the like.

As skilled as she was, she knew only the most basic skills of healing, and that required absolute concentration on her part. The building levels of sedatives, mixed with hunger and growing dehydration, were making it harder and harder for her to focus and evade her would-be captors. In her initial run from the bar, she had dropped her holocommunicator, breaking the device, so she couldn't even call for help.

A noise further in the alley made her jump, then she bolted, feeling the hunter who had been waiting around the area she was in, just in case, detect her. Not one bystander stopped to help her, all instead moving out of the way to give her pursuer a clear shot. As the cathar shot sedative darts at her, the purple beams of light sprang from her lightsaber, destroying each incoming projectile, as she continued her retreat.

Too late, she felt the hunter's partner, a concussive grenade bouncing at her feet, blowing as she tried to evade. Knocked through the air, her vision blurred, body aching, her only thought was "Again?" She hit the wall and slumped, trying to rise as she felt five pinches in her back, the new drugs coursing through her body. As her vision grew darker, she heard the two talking about her, "Force User. How'd she end up enslaved the first time?" Her mind reached out, trying to call for Serah, "Dunno boss. But biometrics match. No question it's her." Unable to feel her master, tears leaked from her eyes as nothingness began to claim her, her voice a whisper, "Ja'on."


	14. The Auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on makes a purchase

It had been a month since Alderaan. Ja'on was feeling lonely, tired, and just had a sense of melancholy about him. The Empire had little to nothing for him to do, he had no other obligations. Boredom was setting in, and all said and done, he craved contact. After setting course, and a short jump through hyperspace, Nar Shaddaa came into view. He wasn't sure why he picked here, there were plenty of places to go for anything resembling what he needed, but it was here he landed.

The Promenade held little interest, the red light district too much for his tastes, the market too crowded. _"For being someone who desires a little contact with another sentient,"_ he thought to himself, _"I am certainly being picky about it."_ This thought drew a small smile on his lips as he went to the less savory parts of town, closer to the slave pens. On a whim, he decided to try a bar he had passed multiple times. They had dancing girls, most of whom were slaves, but he had heard they had decent drinks here. A little research as he walked, he learned most girls were owned by the bar in an indentured servitude, making cred to buy their freedom. In fact, the owner was on the up and up, however he did have a silent partner, one of the Hutts.

It was known that the Hutt showcased certain girls as dancers to drum up interest, then held auctions for them. These girls were just property, freedom only a dream for them. Tucking his datapad away, Ja'on finished the trek to the bar. It was clean, at least, dim but not dark to help hide the patrons, and to draw attention to the girls. On stage currently was a chiss girl, wearing a uniform four sizes too small, slowly removing it to draw attention. Ja'on moved to the bar, ordering a Alderaanian Ale, paying before taking a seat to watch the show. "Worst case, I enjoy the show, maybe even a lap dance." He still wasn't exactly sure WHY he had come here, but decided to just make the best of it.

The Chiss finished her dance, already slotted to lap dance for an imperial officer, when the next girl came out. Then the next. While all the girls gyrated, danced, pranced, or otherwise pleased the eye, none drew his attention. Half way through his ale, he noticed a shift, the lighting changing just a bit. After this, a few of the patrons shifted, and it made sense. A girl for Auction would be next. He shook his head, and felt for the poor girl about to come out, mid sip when he froze as the curtain parted.

Red skin, black lines, a brand on her hip, both Lek'ku down, the Twi'lek stepped onto the stage. "Pimm?" he whispered, sitting up himself. Her outfit was a mesh bodysuit, only barely shading her body, enough to not display all of herself, but still left nothing to the imagination. He reached for her, and realized she was wearing a tiara, that the Force washed around her instead of through, though he could touch her.

Then other problems came to his attention. Her heart rate was too high, threatening to seize the muscle. Her breaths were shallow, fast. Her eyes were dilated, all but unseeing. Pushing further into her, he could feel the cocktail of inhibition blockers, hormone heighteners, and spice. She stepped onto the stage, and a final push showed the fear, the gripping fear, of her situation. This was not like Corellia, she was not on a mission this time.

He was about to stand when her eyes fell on him. Her body seemed to lift as recognition hit her, but Ja'on felt the thoughts, _"It's happened....I've snapped. It can't be him. He's right there, but it can't be him. I'll never see him again."_ This seemed to push something inside her, and as the low synth beat started, she started her dance. While Ja'on had never seen her dance on Corellia, he had heard of her grace, her rhythm, her skill to move her body. It was art and performance all in one, beautiful to observe. This on the other hand, was not. Pimm all but exploded into motion, putting her entire being into the dance.

She had leapt across the stage, barely touching as she pushed herself into a spin, lek'ku flying, arms controlling her body. A saunter back, showing off her hips, her legs, bending and dipping, showing off her body. Ja'on was transfixed, both by the display, and further by knowing HE was why she was dancing. Kicks, twirls, caressing her body, every trick the other girls used to entice accented and exaggerated ten times. She finished as the music reached its crescendo, sitting on her feet, legs spread, eyes locked on Ja'on, panting from the effort, her mind all but screaming to leap off the stage and into his lap, but a deeper fear of trying. Fear he would drop her. Fear they would shock her. Fear that he would not be there.

Slowly, finished, she stood, and he saw tears on her cheeks as she went backstage. Six patrons all stood, moving to a side door, as the Sith sat there, processing his thoughts. Her display, for him, had made it hard to think, but in the passing seconds, he grew angrier and angrier. She was Jedi. She was a warrior. Honorable. Strong. She deserved better than this. If anyone would own her tonight, it would be him. She deserved that respect at least. He stood, his pants admittedly much tighter than before sitting, and moved to the side door.

As he reached it and started to go through, a reedy little Bith tried to stop him. "Sorry, only those with invitations can bid." Ja'on looked at the little man with the too-large head, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him. "The Sith always have invitation." The Bith's eyes went wide as Ja'on's turned yellow, before the man's free hand grabbed the other's and twisted, breaking the wrist, then dropped him and literally ripped the door open, the hinges holding, but the latch plate shattering. In the hall, four armed guards, a rodian, two wookies, and a human stood in his way, his face contorting in hate, red spiking his irises. "Let me through to bid or die."

One wookie, wielding a vibrosword, roared a challenge and charged, swinging with a vicious overhead swing. Ja'on simply sidestepped, a blur to the others, his right hand snaking out. He grabbed the wookie by his chin fur, swinging the creature's head in as he brought his own forward. The crack of skull hitting skull was deafening, and the furry creature swayed for only a second before collapsing in a heap. The Rodian came over, feeling for a pulse, before jumping back, eyes wide, seeing the signs of the aneurysm caused by the headbutt. The other Wookie leveled his blaster, shooting as the Sith, who deflected the shot with his hand, before those in the hall could smell the ozone shift, and the bolt of lightning streaked from Ja'on into the attacker, the stench terrible, but the hole actually burnt straight through the creature's torso worse.

The Rodian had thrown down their weapon, flattening themselves against the wall, the human's eyes on the Sith. Ja'on's face was pulling into a snarl, hands clenching into fists, and the last guard shook his head, dropping his own weapon. "Sith are always welcome to bid!" he said quickly, moving to the other wall. Darth Junath stalked past the two and to the last door. This one opened automatically for him, and he stepped into the bidding room. Pimm was on a stage, wrists bound over her head to a chain, moving slowly. An ugnaught, the small piggish creature, was running the bidding, snorting and snuffling the cost. The violence and entrance of the Sith had drawn the activity to a halt.

The Sith looked over the collected would-be buyers, then locked the auctioneer in his gaze. _< We have already started bidding!>_ the little creature squealed out in its language. Ja'on looked to the side, taking a datapad from the wall, and swiped his credstick. Once it accepted his data, he looked over the information. P'fero, suspected Force user, escaped after incarceration of previous master Rayf Alder. He looked at the price, then back up, "And? You neglected to inform a Sith Lord that an auction was taking place in the establishment. Your guards TRIED to stop me." The collected crowd in the small room shrank from the sensation they felt washing from the Sith. "To say I'm aggravated is an understatement, worm. But I am here to bid. Now continue."

All knew entering an auction once bidding started was normally frowned upon, but none were going to argue with the Sith on that point. _< Very well! Last bid to the Chiss, for 70.>_ Ja'on checked the price, tapped a button, "Seven." The whole room froze, looking back at him. _< M'Lord, you are late, you can't simply lower the....>_ The Ugnaught trailed off as he saw the number on his datapad, but a human laughed, "If he says seven, seven it is! Eight!"

The ugnaught shook his head, jowls quivering, _ <You can't afford eight.>_ The human laughed, dryly, "That latecomer dropped the bid from seventy thousand, to seven. We're starting low, and since you won't kick him out, I'm just taking advantage of it!" The ugnaught shook his head again, looking to one well dressed person, obviously very wealthy. The other human didn't bother to look, "The Sith Lord didn't drop the price you dolt. I will not outbid him. While she is worth auction prices, she's not worth that much." The mouthy human finally looked at the datapad, eyes going wide. The ugnaught finally, _< Sold to the Sith for seven.>_

Ja'on walked to the stage to collect Pimm, but the ugnaught stopped him. _< We will ship your property to you. Since it was escaped, it is on probation. We need to finish the processing.>_ Ja'on audibly growled at this, grabbing the little creature by its coat, lifting him to his height, face inches from face. "Do you THINK I would allow her to escape?" Flailing its little arms, squealing, _< Of course not! It is law in Hutt space! Please, I'm only doing my job!>_

While Ja'on was not happy with the response, arm shaking from clenching his fist so tight, he nodded. "One hour, auctioneer. Or I will hunt you down." Then, in spite of the rage, he set the creature down, gently, and turned and left. While he could be held responsible for the damage to the door and the guards, none were going to report him. Slavery was legal in both Hutt and Imperial space, after all, and it was an open invitation from the Cartels to the Sith for any and every auction. By trying to bar him, those guards would have caused a major incident if he reported their actions, with far more damages done than what could be levied against him. Within a half hour, at his ship, Ja'on paced, before a delivery droid approached, a cage carted behind it.

Pimm was cramped, the cage far too small, her legs and arms folded against her stomach, compressed. A shock collar was on her neck, and magnetic binders on her feet and ankles, locking her down. "Where do you want it, bub?" the droid asked. This drew a dark growl from Ja'on, who walked over and ripped the cage apart, literally. The hinges holding the sides together and to the top snapped, metal pieces flying everywhere, the cage falling apart. "Soooo....no cage! Got it bub!" The droid left the docking bay as Ja'on reached for Pimm, but she was already on her feet. Her wrists were bound in front of her, her ankles not locked yet, before the droid came back, "Oh yeah, bub! The remote!" It handed the Sith a remote, and Pimm flinched visibly at its sight. Ja'on's voice was a dark growl, "Is this her Master control." The droid nodded, "Yup. All three parts. No others hold her codes." Then it was gone again.

Ja'on pocketed the remote, and then she was on him. Her hands reaching through his robes, trying to pull them open, though the binders kept her from doing much. He felt her urge, her desire, to be taken then and there, the aphrodisiacs and inhibition blockers, as well as the Spice, making her uncontrollably indulgent. He grabbed her wrists, stepping back, her eyes coming to his, "Please! Please let this girl please you! I want to be good! I'll be good! Please?!" She was desperate, terrified, the thought that she was insane running rampant through her head. His voice, much calmer than with the ugnaught or the droid, "No, not here. Let's board the ship, first." She nodded, fervently, and he led her to the loading ramp.

They had barely made it inside the Eagle before she was trying to disrobe him again, something deep inside her pushing her, and he was forced to stop her again. "Pimm, enough." Her purple eyes met his, still dilated, still manic, "Pimm? You want Pimm? I'll be Pimm! Or P'Fero! I'll be anything, but please let me please you?!" Ja'on shook his head inside his mind, trying to decipher the mess of thoughts coming from her. "First, the tiara, then we'll talk about that." To his surprise, however, she recoiled as though he had struck her!

"NO! Please! Please let me keep it! It's a Force Inhibitor! I can't see or feel the Force! Let me keep it?!" She was sobbing, trying to pull her wrists from his grip. He tried to reach for her, but her legs gave, "PLEASE Master! Please let me stay blind, just once?! Let me pretend you're Him, just one night! I'll never make you regret me, I'll be good! Please...just let me have him once!" Her entire body was shaking from her sobs, the adrenaline spike, and he understood now. She was convinced she was hallucinating him, that if he removed the inhibitor, she would see the truth, that he was someone else, someone horrible, and just wanted to indulge in the fantasy of being His girl just once.

He was touched, a soft smile pulling on his lips. Slowly, he eased her down, shaking his head, "I can't. I can't do anything with you under a lie." She was shaking her head, the conviction that he was going to be horrible, a murderer, mean spirited, the epitome of Sith cemented in her brain. "You'll see," he said softly, reaching behind her, using the Force to shutdown the device. Once powered down, he waited for her brain to come back into full focus, knowing full well the effects she would be suffering shortly.

As the field died, he felt her synapses flaring and firing off, and saw the unnatural dam against the Force fade. The sharp intake of breath, her heart rate spiking, body shaking as the proverbial pins and needles hit her, a thousand times worse than when just a limb fell asleep. "Please," she pleaded, "I just wanted...." she took a couple shallow breaths, head snapping up, meeting his eyes, her own widening by the second as the realization hit her. She threw herself against him now, hands gripping his robes, pulling herself as tight against him as she could, "Itisyouitisyouitisyouitisyouitisyouitisyouitisyouitisyou!" He was stunned by the action, but quickly brought his arms around her, holding her gently. "Yes. When you danced, and after. I was there." She nodded into his robes, shivering, before shifting. "That means...you own me...." Face buried, her tone was guarded, but her mind was open, her desires before flaring a hundred times stronger, her thighs moving to straddle his lap, pulling closer, "I'm yours, Master, to use. To," he cut her off by grabbing her shoulders, and pulling her back, locking gazes.

Her lips began to quiver, body trembling again, her voice a whisper, "Don't You want me?" His smile came back to his lips, bringing her hands down to his leg, where she could feel the after effects of her dance and forwardness right now. Her eyes widened at the show, but before she could do anything, he pulled her hands away, "Yes. But not here. Not like this. You need taking care of." She shook her head rapidly, "A slave's needs are their Masters!" A month under shock collar, drugged, sleep deprived, the old conditioning was coming through, though he felt the deep seated disgust for the words, and was thankful for that, glad they hadn't broken her completely. "I NEED you well, Pimm."

This made her pause, eyes downcast, a soft but manic giggle on her lips. "First, we need to fix your body," he murmured, and rested his hands on her, right on the side of her stomach, left on her face, cradling her cheek. His eyes closed, focusing inward, then to her. In moments, he felt her heart rate dropping, breathing easing, the drugs purging from her body quickly. She took a deep breath, relaxing, body resting against his. Once done, he looked at her, and knew it was only a start, her own hips slowly pulling up further against him.

Instead of words, however, he scooped her against him, and stood quickly, her squeaking from the movement, her attempt to be sneaky and grind against him thwarted. He carried her to his quarters, her gaze on him the whole time. Laying her out on his bed, he pulled out the remote. She instantly reacted, conflicted, fearing the shock, but also trusting him. A beep, and the binders finally released, her hands free. "Rest, Pimm. You need it." He turned to go, but felt a grip on his arm, turning back. She was weak, the Force holding him barely anything, but she was trying to get his attention. She swallowed, propping herself up on her free hand, arching her back to thrust out her chest against the netting, right leg extended, left bent at the knee, thighs only barely touching, lower lip between her teeth. A brush of her mind told him much.

Much like on Taris, she didn't know how to express her desires. Month ago, she wanted to comfort him, but knew that all her ideas of being physical were wrong. Now, however, she wanted this. She trusted him, with her life and more. She was attracted to him, his power, charisma, and respect making her want to be in this position. Being forward had not worked, but now that she was calming down, relaxing, she still wanted him. Her thighs began to part, just a bit, mouth opening and closing again. Finally, she just whisper, "I want to please you." Even that paled to her real needs and desires, however, but she still didn't know how to express that.

He let his smile broaden, just a bit, "R7, lights down." The lighting inside the ship lowered, still bright enough to see, but soft, intimate. He moved to the bed, her eyes widening in anticipation legs parting further, as he sat on the edge of the bed. Instead of jumping her, he held his hand out, which she took, and he helped her come next to him. She was expecting to be put on the floor, or told to dance, or something, when he shifted further back, onto the center of the mattress, and then pulled her closer.

The only way for her to move was to straddle his lap again, which she did, pulling tight against him, her thighs shaking as she settled. Not sure what to expect from him, his hands or mouth or what, she waited. His right hand came to her face, cradling her head, fingertips brushing her lek'ku now, sending shocks of pleasure through her body. She wanted to close her eyes, to surrender to him, but his gaze kept her captivated. His left hand came around her waist, holding her close, leaning in. Her lips parted, waiting for the kiss, when she felt a fuzzy foggy feeling in her brain. Those blue eyes, intense, passionate, caring, locked on hers, and she could only barely hear the voice, "Rest."

Ja'on watched her as her eyes began to drift closed, body relaxing completely, slumping against him, though her hands still held his robes, clenching the cloth as though her life depended on it. In seconds, she had fallen completely asleep in his lap, holding him. He let out a shuddering breath, anger at what had happened to her boiling under the surface, and the absolute desire to indulge in her offer clashing with everything he believed in. He would not take her, not like this, but the want to was powerful. He leaned back, not letting her go, until he was laying on the bed, her against him, cradling her close. A little shift, and a concentrated thought before the sheet slid from under them, then covered them both. "Rest well Pimm."

Three hours later, Ja'on woke up, Pimm still curled on his chest, her breathing light and even. Her hands had finally unclenched, though her arms had snaked around his torso. "Much to do," he murmured softly, and shifted, rolling her off him. This drew a small mewl, her body stirring, so he stayed still until she settled back down. Finally, he slid from between her arms, placing one of the pillows there for her to hold. Once he knew she was settled, he left the bedroom, moving to the bridge of the shuttle, transferring the holonet through the terminals instead of the projector.

"First things first," he started looking through available housing on Nar Shaddaa, knowing that waiting out her probation on the ship would be problematic, in addition to when he would have to leave planet. He wasn't about to risk anything, leaving her alone, so an apartment would be ideal. He found a unit, spacious, cozy, close enough to the promenade to make easy travel, but isolated enough to lay low. He set up an appointment to visit it, then brought up communications.

He brought up a list of addresses for mail, and found an old one still in use, though not likely often. _"Mark. I know, it's been eighteen months since we last saw each other. If you're available, I'd love to share drinks with you on Nar Shaddaa. I hope you get this soon, love to the wife, Ja'on."_ After sending it, the Sith started going over Hutt bylaws, as well as his own finances. A small smirk and chuckle, already knowing the numbers, he had no worries for the time being. R7 whistled softly, and Ja'on looked down into the landing bay, the smile fading from his face instantly. He stood, moving to the bedroom, a wraith to not disturb the sleeping woman, pulling on his armored robe in seconds, grabbing his lightsaber, and went down the loading ramp.

Three armed guards walked, as the bulbous form of a Hutt (though Ja'on could not remember which one) slithered up to the ship. The guards were tense, but not twitchy. Apprehensive for approaching a known Lord of the Sith, but not preparing for a fight. The Hutt's mind was, well, interesting. But, what was important was that for now, he wasn't aggressive. _< Ah, Darth Junath. The Cartels extend their greeting to you!>_ Ja'on nodded, not smiling, but his body was relaxed, returning his words in Huttese, _< And it is an honor to be greeted, mighty one.>_ All five on the landing pad knew who held the real power right now, but the sincere greeting did ease tensions. Ja'on shifted to Basic, "What do I owe this honor?" The Hutt nodded to his first guard, and Ja'on recognized him from the hall at the club, the human.

The man approached Ja'on, "Prathas wishes to know more about our encounter, Sir." He swallowed, eyeing the much larger Sith, noticing his eyes were still spiked red and yellow. "And what did you tell him?" The Sith's voice was cool, and the guard looked back at the hutt, "The truth. You were angered at not being informed of the auction, and that anger grew as our wookies attacked you. But that you had every right to be there." Ja'on nodded, looking at the Hutt, "That is correct. In addition, you know I paid well." The Hutt nodded, the bulbous tongue sliding over its lips, _< Very true. You paid very well. I wish to know, though. Why.>_ Ja'on's eyes narrowed at the inquiry, the three guards stepping back, though the Hutt did not break under the gaze. "She's a Force user. Possibly Jedi. I'm a Sith Lord. Why do you THINK I want her." The four looked at each other before turning back to the Sith, and Prathas let out a hearty, deep laugh.

_< I see! I see! Very interesting. That one is on probation,>_ and Ja'on nodded, just waving to cut the Hutt off. "I'm aware. I am waiting for probation to end before I take her off Nar Shaddaa. I don't trust those transports." The Hutt nodded, then turned slowly to leave. "Enjoy your girl," the human said as he followed his boss and the other guard, Ja'on turning and starting up the ramp, to see Pimm, sheet wrapped around her body, staring at him, eyes wide, lips trembling.

"Pimm," he started, voice soft, as her knees gave out, collapsing to the ground, him running up the ramp to her. Two feet away, she threw her hand up, a wall of energy hitting him, though it was still weak from her exhaustion, tears in her eyes. "You let them do that to me?" Her other hand came to her neck, and he felt the energy start to ebb. His own eyes wide, he ploughed through her barrier, taking both hands in his, putting them against his chest, "Don't!" She looked at him, anger filling her face, "YOU LET THEM!"

He shook his head, feeling her anger and hurt growing. "No, I didn't. Pimm, I'm still trying to figure this out, but you were listed as a runaway." This began to sink in, though her head shook, "You were. I have your records up. You were a runaway, from Rayf. By Hutt law, runaways that are reclaimed are on probation, period. If I tried to collect you before they could finish, I would not have you here! Please, calm down." She ripped a hand from his, and slapped him, "Don't tell me to calm down! You're not the one with a bomb in your fething neck!" She was shivering now, fear gripping her, her hand coming back to her neck where the small implant was buried under her skin.

He took that hand again, her struggling weakly, "Pimm, if you try to disarm it with the Force before your probation is over, it will blow. The chronometer is tied to Nar Shaddaa. The NETWORK knows when it's allowed to be disarmed." She finally gave up the struggle, but didn't lean into him yet. "And if I leave the planet, my head blows up. If anyone with the code pushes the button, my head blows up." Despair started to grip her now, hopelessness. He shook his head, softly, "And none of that will happen, Pimm. I verified while you were asleep, only I have the code. I changed it in the remote, and on the bomb. While the network knows when the bomb can be dearmed, that's all it knows." She looked up to him now, his eyes faded to the blue she knew. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I swear it."

She swallowed, dryly, looking at him, wanting desperately to trust and believe him. "I scheduled to look at a small apartment, so we're not stuck living on the Eagle." She blinked, lips pulling softly into a smile. "And, this way, you have a safe place to be if I have to go on a mission, because I sure as sith-spit am not going to make you join me on them." She giggled now, eyes drifting down, "Can I come with to see the place?" He nodded, "Of course. But first, better clothes and food." The two went shopping, getting her a couple modest outfits that she felt comfortable in. One thing neither brought up, though, was releasing her from the binders, or removing the shock collar. It certainly helped in public by marking her as his slave, limiting interest from other parties, though both knew the tiny thrill of the symbolism from her wearing them.

After she was clothed, they ate, and finally made it to the apartment. It wasn't huge, but it was spacious. One large bedroom, a second room for an office or den, a kitchen, and a living area, with a refresher, which was impressively large and housed a luxurious bathing area. "This won't be too much for you to handle." His tone to Pimm was cool in front of the realty agent, and she looked at him, "It would be my pleasure to keep this as your home, Master." The two had quickly discussed how to act in public, her years of training paying off to being the dutiful slave. Ja'on signed the contracts, speaking with the agent, signing a few more documents, and then pulled his datapad and ensured the numbers and data transferred. After, the agent left and the two looked at each other, breaking out in laughter. "So, what were the final documents," she asked, hopping up on the counter to look at him as he keyed the locks to his biometrics. "I bought it. Means the locks belong to me, and me alone. No one can backdoor the system."

She let out a soft whistle, knowing the price was already up there for the rent, and buying these kinds of places normally tripled, or more, the price, and he had paid without hesitation. "Of course," she thought to herself, or so she thought, _"He's old, and done a lot with his life. Doesn't surprise me he has extra cred to burn."_ Her feet were dangling and kicking softly as he brought over the pad for her to key her biometrics to, "And now, we're both allowed entry. And," he looked at her, "I'm not THAT old." Her eyes went wide as he grinned at her.

The next two days were a soft blur as they populated the small home. A large bed, dual wardrobes, cookware, table and chairs, a holonet terminal. She didn't do much in the office, though he seemed to be doing something in there, spare electronics and mechanisms going in on occasion. Finally, they felt mostly complete. Ja'on had purchased a memory core transfer device, allowing him to download R7 from the ship, then uploaded him to the computer in the apartment, tying in the various systems for lights and alarms to him. "Not too much for you?" Pimm asked as the beeps and whistles filled the air. A small display filled in the text, as she didn't understand droid, <It is simpler than the Eagle!> More beeps, <Did you know Boss sleeps in the buff?> Her eyes went wide and Ja'on shouted from the bedroom, "I heard that R7!" Ja'on stepped out of the room, giving the terminal a dirty look, then shifted his gaze to Pimm.

She had a silly smile on her face, tears at the corners of her eyes, a mixture of feelings washing from her. "I'm sorry," she said, moving the the refresher to calm herself, Ja'on watching her. R7 beeped and whistled softly, only for him to hear. "Because, R7, this is the closest to a normal family she's probably ever had. Her parents sold her. One bad owner after another. The Jedi rescued her," he broke off as R7 replied, "Exactly. They couldn't help her. Right now, in spite of how kriffed this situation is, she is happy, feeling wanted. And she doesn't even know how to deal with it." A mournful whistle, and Ja'on patted the terminal, "I know. Soon."

A blip, not from R7, drew Ja'on's attention. He brought up the holonet, and his mail. _"Ja'on! You know you're right?! Maritha sends her regards, and agrees that we need to catch up. I'm actually in the area today, Slippery Slopes at 1800 local? First round is on you! Mark"_ He nodded, not replying, instead deleting the message. When Pimm finally came out of the refresher, he moved to her, taking her hands. "Business has come up, Pimm. On planet. I need to head out now, but you don't need to worry, ok? I'll be back in two hours." The Twi'lek looked at him, and he could taste the fear in the back of her mind that he was going to abandon her, or be hurt, or something, but then the memory of him bursting through the door, how he handled the Ugnaught, the fury rolling off him when he bought her came up, and she was able to smile and nod. "Ok."

He left, armed but wearing clothing instead of his armored robes. Fifteen minutes later he was in the Star Clusters Casino, on the second floor. Mark had a table near the wall, and the Sith went and sat down, each producing their own drink. The intelligence officer known as Cipher looked at the Sith Lord, before each tipped their drink to the other and sipped. "It has been that long, hasn't it Ja'on?" The Sith nodded, looking over the crowd. "I need a favor Mark. One that absolutely no one can know about." He looked back, and saw the training, years of it, kicking in, Cipher looking at him. However, in the deepest recesses of his mind, Mark was regarding his old friend. Either way, he was silent.

Ja'on sighed, leaning in closer, resting his left hand on the table. His companion looked down, eyes widening, then back up as Ja'on pulled a glove on. "You haven't worn that in," Mark shook his head, "In years, M'Lord." Gone was the bearing, instead the man that Ja'on had met nine years previous. "I know. That's how important this is." He met Mark's eyes, "I swear, on my honor, on my family, Mark, that I am not betraying the Empire. But what I AM doing can still land me in trouble." Mark just looked at the Sith Lord, before finally, "Of course, M'Lord. You saved my life, and YOU brought me to intelligence. Without you, I would not even be alive, let alone happy and successful. And not once have you ever asked anything of me. Not once have you held that over me. You had me transferred back," he fell silent as the two men took a drink in memory, "back then, but that was because you trusted me, not to use me. What do you need?"

Ja'on smiled, "Thank you, Mark. I need to know the location of Ackerack. Last I met him, he was captain, C.O. of Havoc Squad. Probably a major or even higher by now." Mark blinked, shaking his head, "Actually, I know that. He's...dead Ja'on. In combat seven months ago. The new C.O., Travus, has been leading since." Ja'on's face drew into a grimace, "Kriff! How about...Darreck. He was Sergeant." Mark thought for a few moments, "Last I heard, after Ackerack died, he left the squad, but is still serving. I can run the inquiries. I know better than to ask why, since if you wanted to kill them you wouldn't be asking me for a favor. But, what do you need the information for?" Ja'on looked at him, "To talk to him." Mark nodded to this, "So less current location, and more when he'll be somewhere neutral." Ja'on nodded, the two men standing and embracing. "Thank you, friend," As they parted, Mark just grinned, "Think nothing of it, M'Lord. Same address?" Ja'on nodded, and the two parted, fading into the crowds.


	15. Tython

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the Jedi Council

For three days, life just sort of continued for the pair. After returning from meeting Mark, Ja'on had removed her binders, however they left on the shock collar. That way, when she would go out, she would be visibly marked as owned, once again removing interest in her. She would clean their place, he would cook, and the evenings were spent in myriad ways. Sometimes with riddles, other times playing games. They watched Huttball on the net, or would occasionally just go walk the promenade. At night, they would curl onto the bed together.

He could feel the urges from her, but neither ever acted on them. With the lack of ongoing conditioning, and the first couple good nights of sleep, she was able to control herself far better, and he knew that while she still got the thrill of him owning her by record, she was afraid how far that would actually go, so she distanced her thoughts from the what-ifs. After all, a night of passion, or indulging in her urges were innocent enough, it could quickly lead somewhere darker. She trusted him, and he knew he would never do it, but she felt the very real risk of falling into the role of *being his* so far that she could turn her back on the Order, and the Republic.

So, while they both knew they would enjoy that night, neither ever acted on it. He was careful how much emotion he showed around her, and reminded himself constantly that this was only temporary, in an effort to keep himself distant from her. In spite of their efforts, it was still difficult. They shared the bed, her curled against his body every night. The occasional bump into each other was difficult since neither wore very much, her the modest but still skimpy outfit of a slave, him comfortable shorts and a shirt. While it wasn't groping or full-on chest-to-chest collisions, the brush of hand on arm, or thigh to thigh gave each a small spark. Even the third morning, she was showering and he stumbled in without thinking, her shadowy silhouette in the steam making him freeze for a few seconds as she washed.

The evening of that third day, however, the familiar blip of mail on the net drew his attention. Bringing it up, he read the short message, "No longer in, too stifled. Now a mercenary. VERY Republic Loyal. Tatooine." Ja'on nodded, then deleted the message. Pimm knew better than to ask, or to read over his shoulder, since neither of them wanted her to be compromised. The first night after meeting Mark, they had discussed that very issue, agreeing the less she knew, the better off she would be. "But, I promise, Pimm, that who you already know me as, is the truth. That's not going to change." This single sentence calmed her more than anything else.

She went about cleaning as he moved to the bedroom, donning his armored robes, arming himself properly. He came out, carrying his mask, feeling her eyes on it before looking up to him. "I need to go to Tatooine. Don't worry, it's not to kill anyone. But, this is very important, and I can't wait." Pimm's eyes fell to the side, and he felt her pang of fear again, moving towards her. "This is important, for you. Ok?" She looked up at him, questions in her eyes, but nodded. He didn't think, stepping in close, leaning down and kissing her tenderly on the center of her forehead, "I'll be back in a day, two tops." He was already out the door before realizing what he had done, feeling the flush and heat from her behind him.

Soon the Jade Eagle was soaring through the Nar Shaddaa skyline, then the blackness of space. A few hours later, the too brown desert planet was filling his front view, coming in fast and low, docking. R7 chirruped softly, "I'm sorry it's so awkward, R7. I just don't want Pimm alone right now. Soon, she'll be where she belongs, and you'll be in a single computer." He left the ship, and the docking bay, donning his mask. Mos Ila grated on him every time he landed, but this was an important trip. He brought up Darreck's mercenary history, seeing an impressive list of feats. His actions were always loyal to the Republic, but without the oversight of the military. It seemed he was hunting down a slicer who worked for freelance, who targeted non government entities, meaning banks, or personal files.

He shifted his search to this individual, getting a face, name, and so much more. His holocommunicator chirruped quickly, and he pulled it out, Keeper appearing. "Darth Junath, forgive the interruption," the Sith Lord arched an eyebrow, "But we received that you are searching for Exar Sun-yi. He is on our list for crimes against the Empire, so when anyone tries to find him, we are notified." The Intelligence officer fell silent, his face saying it all. Ja'on laughed softly, "He's a target for many people it seems. I saw some chatter of different mercenaries and bounty hunters searching for him, so I was curious." Keeper nodded, sighing, "I'm glad. I do have word he is in Mos Ila now, actually. The Empire does not care how he is handled, since he has nothing of importance. Just that he ends being a nuisance." Ja'on nodded, the comm dying, and he couldn't help a small chuckle.

The Sith Lord then began to stalk the streets of the Imperial held city. It only took him ten minutes to find the hacker, an Arconan, slicing a computer to download files from a hutt's head bodyguard. After verifying it was his, and Darreck's, target, Ja'on moved to the creature. He rested his hand on the Arconan's shoulder, and a small push of Force energy knocked him out. Heaving the slumped body over his shoulder, the patrons of the bar the reptile had been working out of not even giving them a second glance, Ja'on left, and started towards the desert.

Once clear of the city, Ja'on closed his eyes, and pushed his senses out. He knew Darreck, knew his face, knew his morals, knew his strength. As he searched, he found Tuskans and Jawas, droids, derelict battle sites, a place he had been to once, long ago, and there, surprisingly close, a lone and familiar ping. Eyes open, hoisting the would be slicer onto his shoulder, he set off at a decent pace. Within forty-five minutes, he felt that ping of the Force, and came to a halt, calling out, "Darreck! I know it's you, and you do have a bead on me! But you do not have the drop. Show yourself!" Ja'on looked to his right at the movement, a familiar autocannon glistening in the sun, the familiar but now scarred face grinning down at him from a cave mouth that was almost impossible to see.

The two entered the cool darkness, Ja'on dropping Exar on the ground, Darreck's eyes wide. Instead of speaking, Ja'on took off his mask, and sat on the ground, motioning for the mercenary to do the same. "Yes, it’s your target. Not just yours, apparently. Imperial Intelligence wants him dealt with, and I caught him slicing Hutt accounts." Darreck just blinked at him, "You know how unsettling that is, right?" Ja'on laughed, "Even more unsettling when I tell you, I didn't use the Force. I tracked you down, Darreck," The younger man didn't lose his smile, but his hand did shift, and Ja'on felt his fingertips were on a knife hidden in the armor. "I need a favor." The former soldier tilted his head, "Oh? What kind?"

Ja'on sighed, heavily, then looked the man in the eye. "I need to go to the Jedi Council, and I don't mean Coruscant." The two stared at each other, Darreck unable to even process the request. "You what who now?!" Ja'on nodded, "The Jedi. Whatever world they are on. I don't know what it is, or where, NOR should I." The emphasis shook Darreck, "Then how are you going to get there?" His tone had a disbelieving laughter to it, which was cut dead at the Sith's next words, "I need you to take me."

The weight of that statement hit the mercenary hard, and Ja'on felt the gears turning. True to his word from a year prior, he was definitely thinking situations through, quickly. No longer thinking this was a joke, or some test, now a deathly serious issue, Darreck asked, "Why." There was a cold edge to his voice, and Ja'on felt the conviction building, the young man very ready to attack him, and most likely die, depending on the Sith's answer. "Pimm. She's not in trouble now, but I need to speak to the Council." Darreck blinked a few times, head shifting, eyes working, as Ja'on continued, "I brought you the slicer as a show of faith." At this, Darreck looked up, "Why me?" To this, Ja'on reached into his kit, pulling out a bottle of Corellian Brandy and two small tumblers, pouring each a drink, "Because Ackerack isn't here," he said as he held up the glass. Ja'on felt the stab in the guts Darreck felt, who then took the glass, looking into the amber liquid, "To our fallen," Ja'on finishing the toast, "May their memories be honored as they lived."

The two knocked back their drinks, and Darreck handed back the glass. The bottle and tumblers stowed, Ja'on looked back up, as the mercenary shook his head. "You know...it's like impossible, right? It would be treason for me to take you!" Ja'on offered a smile, then produced two injectors, "Sedative H4b. You hit me with one dose to take me there, then a second to bring me back. I won't remember a thing." Darreck looked at the sedatives, then up at the Sith, "I trust you to take me, Darreck, because I trust you to know I'm being honest and truthful. I need to talk, nothing more." Slowly, the mercenary swallowed, but nodded his head. "Ok. My ship is at Anchorhead. I'll take our little slicer back, meet me at the Den." Ja'on nodded, rising and donning his mask. "Thank you, Darreck."

Three hours later, the retrofitted B7 screamed over the desert sky, landing on one of the pads near Outlaw's Den, the closest to a truly neutral area Tatooine had to offer. Ja'on was waiting as the ramp lowered, the mercenary waving him on board. Ja'on handed him the two injectors, and felt the man's apprehension. "Darreck, this is important. Do you think I am trying to trick you?" The mercenary looked up, as Ja'on removed his mask, looking into those blue eyes. Remembering how the Sith saved him, twice. The two working together to defeat the cyborg. Then remembered the sensation of the Force healing his body, as well as being controlled like a puppet. He had followed some of the Sith's history as well, and finally shook his head. "I don't, Ja'on. But...this IS treason." The Sith stepped up, resting his hand on the mercenary's shoulder, "That's why I need to go straight to the Council. The Jedi, THEY will understand." His smile was warm, and Darreck relaxed, nodding, before placing the first autoinjector against Ja'on's neck, the sharp hiss and pinch, before the large man hit the deck like a sack of bricks. "I'll be damned, it does work."

When Ja'on came to, he was strapped into a chair, feeling the turbulence of atmosphere, a protocol droid nearby. "Oh, you are awake! Master Darreck tasked me to watch you as we flew, and inform him soon as you awoke." Still a little groggy, the sedative wearing off, Ja'on nodded. "Please tell me we're at our destination, and not leaving Tatooine?" The silver plated droid gave a small bow, "Of course! Soon as you were unconscious, Master took to the skies immediately. He wasn't sure if the sedative would last long enough, so we did not waste any time." After that, the droid headed to the bridge, Ja'on finishing waking up, ready to go as the ship's engines died.

Darreck came from the bridge, looking at Ja'on, "Um. We, well, sort of have company." Ja'on stretched, unhooking the seat, and stood, reaching out. No less than twenty Jedi, from padawan to Master, surrounded the ship. Each was armed, though none were attacking yet. "I see." He nodded, then ensured his lightsaber worked, hooked it on his belt, did a few stretches, then nodded. "Open the bay. Stay unarmed. The worst they can say is I coerced you. The best is they say nothing." The two went to the entrance of the ship, and the airlock door opened, the loading ramp lowered.

No one had replaced Ja'on's mask, so he descended the ramp with his face open. Half way down, he heard the snap and hiss of twenty lightsabers igniting, and just before he left the metal ramp for the landing pad, he stopped. He felt the trepidation, the fear, and the anger from those gathered, but to their credit, none attacked him. He spoke, quietly and calmly, though loud enough to be heard. "I am Darth Junath of the Sith Empire. I have not come to fight in any way, instead I am here to speak to the Jedi Council. I will not leave this ship until a member meets me, and permits me to step foot here." His words were certainly not anticipated, the wave of confusion rippling through the gathered Jedi. One padawan, closest to the ramp, shifted her saber to point at him, voice hard, "And why should we believe you, scum?" Ja'on blinked, felt the reproach from the older, and the rallying of the younger to that anger, turning his gaze to the girl. "Because I'm not the one with a lit lightsaber and anger in my voice and actions."

He could feel the effect throughout the crowd, indignation, acknowledgement he was right, spikes of anger, confusion, but from the padawan herself, spite and loathing. "How DARE you come here and try to preach to us?!" She was ready to attack, but a stern and harsh voice echoed loudly through the area, "PADAWAN PHORSEE!" Master Satele Shan finished ascending the stairs to the landing pad, face hard as steel, her gaze locked on the padawan. The girl froze at her name, then seemed to shrink under that glare, Satele's ice blue eyes unforgiving. Only when Phorsee looked away, deactivating her lightsaber, did Satele turn to the Sith. He met her gaze dead on, unintimidated by the calm wrath the Jedi contained, the two silent for two full minutes, just looking at each other.

Finally, he spoke, "I must speak with you, and your council. May I." No spite, no venom, no anger. No emotions, save a small sense of urgency, carried in his voice. Satele's chin dipped, just a hair, "How did you get her first." Ja'on nodded, "An acquaintance of mine, loyal to the republic, brought me. I was sedated under H4b, and will be again when I leave. It is urgent I speak with the Council, but I do not wish to have any possible trace of duplicity. No recorders, no droids, no memories. I do not know where I am, and will not. I came here out of need, nothing more."

Satele looked at the ship, and the Sith could feel her probing it, ensuring there was nothing of him tainting it. He knew if the situation was reversed, he would do the same, so he waited, quietly, patient. Finally she looked to him again, "Very well, Darth Junath, please come and speak of what you need." At this, Ja'on finally left the durasteel platform of the loading ramp, and that contact did something to him. He felt the rush, feeling the planet, smelling the trees, hearing the water. For an instant, he was one with the world, then back in himself, following the Jedi Master. Two padawan tried to stop him, however, "Lightsaber, Sith!" one demanded, and Satele turned back to chastise, but the Sith shook his head. "Were the situation reversed, and you willingly walked into the home of the Sith, would you give up your blade? If you can look me in the eye and say yes, without duplicity, I will surrender it." The two padawan looked at each other for a moment, then grudgingly stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

The Jedi and Sith walked in silence through the Temple, the halls and atriums, passing classrooms, until they reached the Council chamber. The two drew dozens of stares, whispers behind them, his mere presence throwing the entire temple into disarray. Finally before the chamber doors, Satele pushed them open, the two entering. The hall was large, spacious, and grand, but modest. Beautifully crafted architecture, a gorgeous table, but nothing ornate for its own sake. "It will take time to assemble the Council, Darth Junath," Satele spoke over her shoulder as they went to the large table. "I understand, Master Shan." His calm voice gave her a moment's pause, then his next words brought her head up, "And, forgive the lateness, but it is an honor to meet you." His face was pulled into a pleasant smile, and to her surprise, his mood, emotions, and thoughts all supported the easy words. "I...I must say it is pleasant to meet someone who can be civil, even to their enemies," she offered. To this, Ja'on nodded, "Likewise. Please, take your time to assemble the Council, I will wait here."

Satele did not have to leave, instead using a holocommunicator to reach the other members. Some responded immediately, projections filling their seats, others filing in through the door. Within thirty minutes, the entire Council was represented. All eyes were on Ja'on, who stood patiently, hands in front of his waist, his mind calm. "In fact," he mused to himself, "This is actually easier to deal with than Nobility." Satele's head perked just a bit, and he realized she had picked up his thought.

"Darth Junath, The Dark Council's Right Hand, has come," Satele started, before Ja'on lifted his hand and cut her off. "Forgive my rudeness, Master Shan, but do not tell me the name of the world, please. As I said, I want nothing from here, save to speak." The Council members all looked at each other, and Satele nodded, "Very well. He has come to us to speak of an urgent matter." As Ja'on was about to open his mouth, Satele's private comm chirped, and she shook her head, answering it. All could hear Serah's voice, not frantic, but concerned, "Master Satele, it's been six weeks now." Satele was about to answer back when Ja'on spoke, "Please, invite Master Ferrowlah to this meeting. She is involved in what I need to say as well." Satele blinked, beginning to see the pattern, and relayed the invitation. Five minutes later Serah entered the chamber, passing and turning to Ja'on, who gave her a soft smile and a nod, and in spite of her anxiety, Serah returned them.

Ja'on took a small breath, eyes on Serah a moment longer, then spoke. "You are failing." The statement, only three words, was to the council as a whole, drawing irritation and ire from the members, but before any could speak he continued. "You raise your padawan, teach them your values, your codes and rules. You claim to care without attachment, to guide and mentor. But I have seen such...NEGLIGENCE on this Council's part, I question if your morals ARE any better than the Sith." The general indignation began to swell in the Jedi, but Serah stepped forward, "What do you mean?" The only other member that retained her calm demeanor was Satele, and she was letting the situation go, to see its end.

Ja'on's face softened, his words prior had no anger, but definitely a stern backing. Now, compassion entered his voice, "Serah, I do not hold this against you, but the Council has failed Pimm. In every regard." A murmuring went through the assembled at that statement, and Serah's maternal instincts flared up, but she didn't know who to focus on or how to cope, so her voice just became desperate, "What do you mean?!" His eyes left her and met Satele's own gaze, "She's been reclaimed as a slave in Hutt territory."

The silence following his statement was deafening, "I know Jedi Knight Pimm was, some many months ago, sent undercover as a slave to discover who, if anyone, the Empire had turned on Corellia. Of course she was successful, as we are all aware." He slowly started approaching the table, now his anger beginning to rise, but his voice stayed calm, "So, her name was changed. She was sold onto the market. She was under full cover. My question is, who actually set up her identity?" The whole room was still silent, before Bela Kiwiiks stepped up. None could actually see the action, none felt what he was about to do, but the crack of skin on skin echoed loudly, his right hand off to his left side, the Togruta's body turned, her cheek swelling and turning colors from the slap he had given her.

Even as the whole of the room started to rise to their member's defense, Ja'on stepped back. "Consider yourself lucky I don't do worse, Master." The noise became an uproar, before Satele's voice cut through, "Enough! Sith, explain yourself!" To this, Ja'on pulled out a datapad, bringing up records, and tossing it on the table, Orgus Dinn taking the device and scrolling through it. "Hutt slave records, all slaves owned by former Corellian Rayf Alder. All slaves accounted for and records released as free people, as per the Republic's acquisition. Save one. The only unaccounted for slave," he turned and bored his glare into the Togruta, "Was one Twi'lek, Red skinned, Purple eyed, a dancer. By the name of P'fero." Serah looked between her fellow Jedi and the Sith as he continued, Bela's face quickly drawing from anger to horror, "P'fero was not released. She was not accounted for. She was classified as a runaway. Because YOU did not do your job."

Bela's eyes dropped from his gaze to the floor, Ja'on silent now, the council members scrolling through the records. "But, she's a Jedi, and her name is Pimm," Satele said, confusion in her voice. Ja'on responded, "The Hutts use biometrics. Names don't matter, DNA does." Serah had fallen quiet, though her anger was building by the second, and Orgus spoke next, "So, what has happened to her?" Ja'on met Orgus, then Satele with his gaze, then turned to Serah, his voice soft, "I bought her." All eyes were back on the Sith at this point, Serah meeting his gaze, and he could feel the desperation and anger growing in her. He continued, "Either luck, coincidence, or the Force itself, but I was fortunate enough to be in the bar that she was being auctioned at. If I had not been, we would never see her again. Instead, I bought her. For the moment, she and I are staying in an apartment on Nar Shaddaa."

Serah barely managed to get the words out from between her teeth, "Then just free her! Why come here? To brag?!" All could tell she was seconds away from attacking the Sith, and his voice carried no concern for that, just that he be understood. "Because as a runaway, she was placed on probation. A bomb was implanted in her neck." The whole room went quiet, Serah's face turning pale. "If she leaves the planet except in a Hutt slave transport, if it deactivates before her probation ends, if it is removed before her probation ends, it blows. I may be a decent healer, but even I can't reattached a head separated from its body." The council behind him were murmuring to each other, but he was watching Serah.

As she began to sway, he was already moving, catching her as she collapsed. Satele came over immediately, the other members having a quiet discussion. A few seconds later, Serah's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Ja'on, unable to voice any of her thoughts, so he spoke, Satele right beside him. "She is safe, Serah. You know I respect and care for her too much to let this ruin her. I paid for her already, and I am going to buy her freedom once probation ends. The bomb will be removed. Soon as that can happen, I will have her be brought home, immediately." Serah could only nod, trying to catch her breath, as Satele spoke, "You came here, to our Temple, to simply tell us this? Why." He turned to her, "Because Serah, and your council, deserve to know. And a holocall would not suffice. Master Shan, I may be Sith, but I do have enough respect for your order to treat you with some dignity. Would you want to be told about Pimm through open channels?" The Jedi shook her head, lips pulling into a smirk. "No, I would not."

Serah regained the color to her face, sitting up on her own, though Ja'on and Satele were close by to ensure she was stable. Serah looked to the Sith Lord, "Walk with me." It was both a request and a demand, one Ja'on nodded to easily. Satele stood, "I shall follow, but not interfere, Master Serah." Pimm's Master looked to the leader of the Jedi, nodding, "Please, allow us privacy as well." The three then left the council chamber, down through the Temple, and out onto the grounds. Serah and Ja'on were silent, Satele a good few steps behind, until the open sky of Tython shone on them. The Sith inhaled, sharply, eyes wide, looking over the landscape, his voice awed, "Tython." The two Jedi Masters froze, turning to him. "How," was Satele's only question, and Ja'on gave her a small smile, "I've sat at the feet of Garon Jard and Ters Sendon." The two Jedi looked to each other now, eyes wide, "Holocrons, found on distant planets. In my youth, I found them. Learned from them. And through them, I know this place." He looked to the distant mountains, "The Forge." Satele nodded, and he felt her anxiety grow, his eyes back to her, "I'm just....stunned Master Shan. I am standing where our orders started. It is inspiring."

Satele swallowed, gathering her thoughts, and he felt her probe. Unlike on Alderaan, he left himself open, letting her in. The ease of access widened her eyes, his thought echoing, "To be trusted, one must trust as well." Realizing his claims of being a non-threat were true, she withdrew from his mind. "I, must say your recognition was startling, and your explanation disturbing, but it would seem to explain much about you." Ja'on nodded to this, smile warm, before the three turned, Serah and Ja'on well ahead of Satele now. He knew the Jedi Master was forming her thoughts, and simply took in the world as they walked. Finally, Serah's pace slowed, and he turned his attention to her.

"We both know Pimm's history, though I don't think you know all she endured." He gave a soft nod, "Beyond some basic details and the occasional thought I'd seen, not much. But enough." Serah swallowed, and he could feel her anxiety under everything, "You have to understand, Ja'on, she was slave in Hutt space for fifteen years. Sold as a child by her parents." His own anger at such disregard for children began a soft boil, but stayed focused on Serah's words. "It took her months to not associate Master with negative ideas. Years before she started letting the pain of her raising go." She glanced to him, hesitant before finishing, "You inspired that after your first meeting with her. Not me." He looked at her, feeling the small stab of annoyance, admitting he had such a drastic influence over her padawan, in spite of the benefit it had.

He paused at the admission, the two turning to each other fully now, both silent a moment. "I understand what you are saying, Master Serah. I am not sorry I inspired the drive to heed your training, but I am sorry if you feel any animosity towards me over it." The Jedi smiled, looking down, shaking her head, "And here I am supposed to be the calm one." The Sith chuckled, softly, "You are her Master, you all but raised her after rescuing her. In spite of the idea that Jedi should not have attachment, bonds form, period." The two met each other's gaze, and Serah reached out, palm on his face. "Why are you Sith? You at every turn exemplify the Order's ideals." He laughed now, shaking his head.

"I promise, I do not. My emotions guide me all the time. Sometimes they cause me to act selfishly, but I have a deeper passion than simply growing. And that is to act with honor." Serah sucked both her lips between her teeth, letting her hand drop, the two not discussing his heritage, before she all but whispered, "Was he mistaken?" He met her gaze, and she felt that pain again, the drive to go home. "He has to be," was all he said, but she was bombarded with memories of his childhood, not one feeling fabricated, and she knew Count Alde had been correct. "He has to be mistaken, Serah. In spite of everything." He looked away, and she felt that pain calming. "As for why I stay with the Sith? Honor is nothing if Loyalty isn't upheld. I swore an oath when I was rescued." The two stayed calm for a long moment, before he turned again, started walking, Serah following now.

She finally asked the questions she feared, "How is she?" His lips pulled into a soft smile, "Better. While they had her, she was drugged, starved, sleep deprived. I have no doubt shocked repeatedly. But her mind and body show no signs of being used. She was being conditioned, broken, and they almost succeeded. They had a neural inhibitor on her." Serah shuddered, as he continued, "That is removed. She does not wear binders. But since she does leave the apartment on occasion, the collar remains. It shows her as personally owned, and the crowds leave her be." Serah took all this in, and he felt her trepidation of asking the next question, so he just answered, "No. Nor will I." Serah looked to him, voice a whisper, "And if she begs for it? She desires you, immensely, and I know on multiple occasions she had fantasized about this very scenario." It was his turn to silently absorb and process the thought. "I can't promise anything, Serah, beyond the fact that I do NOT want to corrupt her." He looked to her, and Serah could feel the years of loneliness, of the desire for contact. "We have been avoiding situations that would lead to temptation, though, to minimize that risk. She wants to return to you far more than to stay under me. And you know, I do not want her corrupted or turned. I simply ask you trust that, and believe in us, and if we slip, because only one of us giving in would not be enough, that you forgive us both."

Serah looked at him, and he felt her mind touching his, laid bare for her, even more than he had for Satele. She saw the touches, the sparks, the little hitches and sidelong glances, but felt the resolve of both. She saw him arrange the meeting, hunting down Darreck, the blackout from the sedative. Saw he was honest and truthful in the entire ordeal of arriving on Tython. Finally, "I do. I do trust and believe you." She broke her gaze, stopping, and turning back to Satele now, Darth Junath following.

The Grand Councilwoman had given them their privacy, her own mind showing she had not heard any of what they spoke of. She looked at the Sith, "I want to see our Jedi, Darth Junath." There was no give in that statement, but her will was met by an equally powerful wall, "I'm not objective, but not free access. Let us return and discuss this." The three seemed frozen, but Satele nodded, and they returned to the Council chamber. The rest of the members physically present were there, though the projectors had turned off. Bela stepped away from the rest of the crowd, her face purple from the slap, eyes on Serah, and the Sith could feel the woman's wrath growing.

"Serah, I. I can't apologize enough." Fresh tears had fallen down the Togruta's cheeks recently, her head bowed to the other Jedi. "I was responsible for setting up the operation, and should have done everything after. It just...I didn't think." Serah was ready to explode on her fellow Jedi, when Ja'on rested his hand on her shoulder, voice soft for her, "Serah, she is truly remorseful. In spite of the month Pimm was in captivity, there is no lasting damage." Serah shook with her barely contained rage, but that slowly ebbed out, recognizing the guidance from his words, without being offensive to her. Bela rose her gaze to the Sith, and though he wasn't sure what, he felt her recognize something in him, before turning back to Serah, "I will do whatever it takes to make it up to her, and you, I promise. And, I now see what you meant a month ago." This removed the remaining anger from Serah, who nodded, "Thank you Master Bela."

Bela turned to Ja'on now, his handprint a sharp contrast on her face, "And Darth Junath, thank you. Thank you for having honor, for cleaning up my mess. For saving Pimm. And, thank you for restraining yourself when you slapped me." The tall man nodded, "I wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation, not kill you. You took it to heart, it seems." Bela nodded, and then all took seats around the table.

Satele started, "While we believe you, your story, and your professed intent with our member, Darth Junath, I still demand access so we can assess her condition, as well as ensure she knows she is not forgotten to us." Ja'on nodded, "I agree, Master Shan. However, you must understand there is much that makes this problematic. First, I am Sith, you are Jedi. While the Treaty stands, we are not direct enemies, but we both have members in our organizations who like to keep tabs. Frequent visits would draw attention. Secondly, Nar Shaddaa is Hutt territory. While the Cartels are certainly open to negotiations with both sides, they are in it for themselves. If they feel the Jedi are trying to inhibit their own operations and laws, it will cause incident. And, while I know many would welcome the Hutt's taking exclusive work for the Empire, it is not a favorable outcome." Serah looked down, and he could feel a small spike of despair in her heart. Orgus Dinn spoke up, "What would you suggest, then?"

Ja'on looked around the table, "Only one or two will have access. It must be arranged ahead of time. I know, by putting limitations on your access, it seems I am trying to hide something, which is true, but not from you. If Intelligence or the Dark Council find I am having conversations with the Jedi, I and Pimm will be in great peril. The only two I trust enough for this are, of course you Serah, and you Master Satele." He nodded to each of the women. "I will leave you an independent holo frequency you can reach me on. We will arrange a time and day. It must be in private, because if a slave known to be owned by a Sith is found talking to Jedi, there will be problems. And I can't let you simply into my apartment, for the same reasons." He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, folded, voice earnest, "Please, believe me when I say if I could have simply adjusted her records and released her, I would have. These conditions are to protect her, yourselves, and myself, nothing more. Were it a different planet, it would be much easier, but Nar Shaddaa is simply too crowded to leave such things to chance." In spite of the restrictions, Satele and Serah nodded in agreement.

After ten more minutes, Serah had Ja'on's personal holo frequency, already setting up to arrange the first meeting with Pimm, and Ja'on, Satele, and Serah were walking through the temple back to the landing pad. As Ja'on was about to board, all could hear the scream, "BUTCHER!" A snap and hiss, his silver lightsaber was lit, deftly blocking the jumping overhead slash that Phorsee had launched at him, her body flipping over him to land behind him, already launching into more attacks that he intercepted easily. His gaze caught Satele, who was shocked at the padawan's actions. At first she would intervene, but his look made her pause. His silver blade intercepted blow after blow from the padawan, before she screamed, "I will avenge my brother, Butcher!" This drew his full attention, recognizing the other title he wore for Azmi, Azmi's Butcher.

He felt his anger spike, years of pain finding a razor edge focus in the girl, his blade speeding up, hitting harder, though his style was still defensive. Instead of simply blocking or deflecting her blows, hers were now being knocked back, leaving her open for counter attacks repeatedly, but he still did not strike."Back down, Jedi. You have no idea of what you speak." His voice was tight, a growl, as Serah began to realize what this fight was about. Phorsee, however, attacked again, "I DO know! You butchered those good men of the Republic!" Serah and Satele could feel that last strand snap in the Sith, and he became a blur.

Phorsee couldn't keep up with the silver blur of light, Satele and Serah igniting their own sabers, before there was a crack and a thud, the padawan knocked on her back. Darth Junath stepped up, placing his boot on her wrist, pinning the arm holding her lightsaber, his own blade pointed down, almost against her neck, the two locking gazes. "I give you one chance to back down, Jedi, or I will destroy you." Phorsee looked up at him, along the beam of silver, and spat on him, "Go kriff yourself, Butcher! I'll never forgive you!" Serah and Satele began to approach, flanking the Sith, feeling his rage and pain roar, his energy influencing his lightsaber now, extra energy pouring through it, the blade wavering and pulsing.

He snarled, "As you wish. How many people lived in Azmi before the sacking?" Darreck had come to the loading ramp at the fight, autocannon brought to bear, but was able to hear the voices. Phorsee just glared at the Sith, Satele and Serah hesitating in attacking, and the former soldier answered. "Census showed Port Azmi had a population of five thousand." Phorsee looked over at Darreck, then back, Ja'on asking the next question, "How many military were stationed there?" Serah blinked, recognizing what was happening, as Darreck called down, "A company, two hundred strong." The lightsaber whined audibly as Ja'on's anger spiked, "What was the casualty count of the sacking." Phorsee had begun to shake, already knowing this last value, as Satele calmly gave the number, "Two thousand, four hundred and sixty three."

"Now, some facts of the Sacking, Jedi. The day the Republic Forces attacked, the garrison was on exercise. There were only ten troops to defend the city." The blade of the lightsaber stopped the pulsing, instead just grew brighter as Ja'on continued. "That means that those squads, that company, that were involved with the sacking, killed Two thousand, four hundred, and FIFTY three CIVILIANS. CITIZENS!" All could feel his anger washing over them. Phorsee trembled on the floor, looking up at the Sith. "What was your brother's name, Jedi." She shook her head, prompting him to scream at her, "WHAT WAS HIS NAME!" Phorsee clamped her eyes closed at that assault on her ears, her mind pummeled from the anger itself, "Drathus Artiga!"

Everyone on the roof stepped back as the name was cried out, the Jedi seeing the Sith's energy shift so quickly, even Darreck felt the change in the man, bringing his cannon to bear on his passenger. Phorsee shrieked in fear as the silver blade impaled the duracrete under her, inches from her head, but he released the blade, which shut off, grabbing the girl's robes and bringing her up, letting her wrist go from his foot. "Specialist Drathus Artiga," he growled, the girl's eyes forced open and into his, her body paralyzed from fear, "Personally executed forty seven citizens, thirteen of whom were pregnant females he cut open with his knife, ten who he shot while they were hiding, twenty three by forcing them on the ground and executing by sidearm shot to the head." Phorsee couldn't look away, body shaking, head trying to shake as though to deny, but knew the Sith was telling the truth, as well as able to do the math. "The...last?" she asked, voice shaking as hard as her body. He brought her face less than an inch from his, "An eight year old child. One who ran to him begging him to stop the assault, on the mommies, daughters, and sons who weren't soldiers." All could see tears forming and falling down the Sith's cheeks, "He used his rifle so many times on the boy, that when I buried my SON! I had to have the casket closed, because HIS TORSO COULDN'T BE HELD TOGETHER!" Phorsee stopped shaking now, her fear pushing past the physical reaction, staring into the pain the Sith carried.

"So do not call me a monster, Jedi. If I had been inclined, I would have murdered that company's families. And their friends. And their friend's families. I would have killed over two thousand citizens and civilians that MATTERED TO THEM!" Phorsee was paling in front of that rage, "But instead I hunted down those war criminals and killed them. I did not torture them, though I TRULY wanted to. I just killed them." He leaned in just a little more, almost touching noses with the girl, "THAT is your brother, Jedi. A child murderer." He threw her on the ground, hand waving, his lightsaber flying to it, turning on, "Now pick up your weapon and defend him."

Phorsee shook her head, and all felt the Sith's anger spiking again, before he heard the autocannon priming, the snap of more lightsabers, though none attacked him. Serah finally spoke, "You succeeded, Darth Junath. Her image of her brother is destroyed, she knows the truth now. You don't need to continue." For two breaths, none moved, then slowly, the Sith deactivated his weapon, stowing it on his belt. He turned from the Jedi, and went up the ramp into Darreck's ship, all eyes following him, the mercenary coming down the ramp, Serah approaching him. "I remember you, from Havoc Squad on Balmorra," and he nodded, both looking up at his ship. "I didn't know, I didn't think," he began, but Satele came over, "No, don't blame yourself. He was truly here to talk to us about Pimm. Our padawan pushed him to this."

Darreck nodded, and Satele moved her attention to him. "I wouldn't." He looked at her, eyes widening. "I understand your loyalty to the Republic, and you are right that someone like him would be treated well. But he trusts you, literally putting his life in your hands. He said it himself, 'Honor without loyalty is nothing,' but loyalty without honor to yourself is just as empty." The mercenary looked back up at the ship, "You're right, Master Jedi." He looked to Phorsee, who was sobbing on the ground, realizing that while she was ready to kill the Sith for what he had done to her brother, his grief and anger was a thousand times more justified, and he refrained. "What will happen to her?" Satele looked to the girl, "That is Jedi business," ready to continue but Darreck interrupted. "Master Jedi, I'm asking because she acted out of grief. I...I don't think she deserves more than what has already happened." He looked back at the ship, "I don't think, honestly, that he would want more for her either."

Satele looked at the man, and nodded, "I will keep that in mind. Thank you." He nodded, then bowed, totally unsure what to do, then retreated up the ramp. Ja'on was pacing, practically stalking, in the ship. Darreck unstrapped his cannon, stowing it, though his hand stayed on his sidearm. Once Ja'on realized he was there, he stopped moving and looked at the man. To Darreck's surprise, the Sith's face was pulled into one of worry. "What did she say?" He was upset, concerned about his actions, and Darreck just shook his head. "The Jedi said the girl was at fault. I asked her to consider the girl's reason, because I didn't think you'd want her punished further." Ja'on let out a slow, shaking breath, nodding. "I see. I'm ready to head back." He sat in a chair, strapping himself in, exposing his neck for the sedative. Darreck nodded, moving over, and injecting it, the large Sith falling unconscious quickly.


	16. The Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pimm's final dance.

Pimm paced the small apartment after Ja’on had left. R7 beeped and chirped at her comfortingly, the small display showing his text. <<Ja’on is strong! Powerful! A big softy!>> Pimm blinked at the last, “Really?” her voice laughing as her anxiety started to diminish at the droid’s antics. <<Yes! Have you seen his waist? Much squish is there.>> Pimm broke out in a full laugh, sitting at the terminal. “He’s not THAT squishy. So, he calls you R7, but I know that’s an astrogation droid designation. You’re an AI, right?” <<No. R7-D6 model. Long ago, I was bought, and had my chassis. After years, it broke down, beyond repair. But then, break down from blaster fire is pretty permanent. He salvaged my memory core and processor. Installed me as computer AI on the Jade Eagle. Now, I run both there and here.>> Pimm nodded, resting her chin on her hands. “That’s actually really sweet. R7, does he….” She couldn’t finish the question, drawing a chiding set of beeps with the finish sounding like someone blowing raspberries, <<He is good and honorable. He respects you. Likes you. Jedi can trust Sith.>> Her lips pulled into a smile, appreciating the answer, but it didn’t answer the real question.

 

She spent the day cleaning the apartment, looking into the office for the first time. There were displays, interfaces, and more, but nothing made sense. Instead of disturbing the organized chaos, she just left it alone. True to his word, Ja’on had returned within the day, but she could feel him minutes before the door finally slid open for him, the pain he was radiating. She gasped as she looked at him, his face stricken, body slumped, looking defeated. She moved to him, taking his hand, and all but drug him to the large chair they had bought, sitting him in it. He was quiet, and she felt his anger, grief, and pain. All tinted with fear of something happening. She just stood there, watching him, before softly asking, “What happened?”  
  
He was quiet a moment longer, then spoke. “You know what I did after the Republic sacked Port Azmi.” Pimm nodded, “The Empire called me ‘The Avenger of Azmi’ because of it. Those soldiers had killed over two thousand citizens, civilians. The biggest threat any of them posed was maybe a hunting rifle, or a vibroknife from a kitchen. I doubt anyone would not consider those men war criminals.” He looked up, and she saw fresh tears in his eyes. “If the Republic had condemned them, treated them as they were, I would not have been forced to act. But they didn’t. So I hunted down those men, and killed them. I wanted to do so much more, but didn’t.” He was silent for a long time, then spoke, “Those men had families, Pimm. Siblings, parents, loved ones. I made those people bury those they cared about. The Republic, those who know it was me, have a different name. ‘Azmi’s Butcher’ for the way I butchered those soldiers.”

 

Pimm nodded at this, drawing the conclusion that whatever he had done, he had encountered one of those family members he was talking about. She didn’t know what else to do, so she crawled into his lap, resting on his chest, hand softly stroking him. “They deserved it, Ja’on.” This drew a reaction from him, looking down at her, his voice tight, “Don’t say that, Pimm.” Startled, she looked up at him, eyes widening. “Don’t. You are Jedi. You are justifying murder, the death of sentient beings, justifying the pain their losses caused.” Her mouth opened and closed, though he softened, smiling at her. “They were war criminals, and if the Republic military had treated them as such, the law would have punished them. If the Empire had managed to rally its forces, they would have been cut down in battle. What I did went beyond that. Few who know the truth would blame me, but to justify my actions begins a path of actions. War criminals today, former pirates tomorrow.” She blinked, and saw the similarities to his lesson as those from Serah, nodding. “And then just that oblivious sentient that bumped into me a year from now?” she asked softly, drawing his nod. “A Jedi never justifies death because of past actions, Pimm. A threat here and now to you, yes, but only,” she curled back against, “But only as a final option, I know.” She now felt his guilt, knowing that while he did kill those men, and if history played out again right now, and the same results from the Republic happened, he would kill them again, and carry the weight of their deaths. In spite of the differences of ideals, and actions, she closed her eyes and rested on him knowing that he wanted her to remain true to her path.

 

The next day, R7 chirped at him, and he went into the office, and she swore he was talking to someone, but his mind was a wall, and she couldn’t hear the words at all, but when he came out his spirits were much higher. Two days after that, he approached her, carrying one of her outfits. “Pimm, you need to put this on, head back to the red light district, and dance at the club.” She froze as she looked at him, eyes wide, shocked into silence. He was stern, face showing no emotion. “A client who saw you dance wants a private show. Aldolphis, paid good money for a show.” She shook her head, knowing that by law, he was more than allowed to make this demand, but she never once thought he would. He looked up at her, something in his eyes scarring her, his voice still stern, “Pimm. Put on the outfit. I have a cred stick for the fare, and a permission chip. Aldolphis paid quite a bit, and your dance starts in an hour, so you need to go.” She shook her head now, tears starting to form in her eyes, and he came to her, empty hand behind her head, forcing her to look up at him, his voice softening. “Pimm, you NEED to trust me. Put on the outfit, go to the club. The owner knows you’re coming, and Aldophis is most likely already there. They paid for a two hour private dance.”

 

Staring into those blue eyes, she had the conflicting desire to do what he asked, and to spit in his face. The emphasis on trusting him stuck with her though, pulling on the memories that he has always sworn he did not want her to fall, to be corrupted, to lose who she was. This is what finally made her move, taking the outfit, though it was hard. She changed, wearing her collar and the dancing outfit, a cloak hiding her body. The taxi almost didn’t take her until she gave the permission chip, and she rode in stunned silence. Her trust was broken at this point, because in spite of everything, she was going to a club, to dance for a client. As a slave. A thing. All said and done, that’s all she was to him. At the club, she went in the back, the up front owner greeting her. “Welcome back P’fero. Aldophis is in room seven. You know that one has no security, and your Master told me to tell you, to give your client everything they want.” She could only nod, removing her cloak, and went through the dancer’s hallway to the room, entering it, eyes cast down.

 

“I am P’fero,” she said, her voice subdued, “Thank you for choosing me. How may I dance for you?” She felt mirth from Aldophis, but her eyes went wide, “I want you to start in Niman and flow into Ataru. Granted no lightsaber makes that hard.” Pimm looked up, unbelieving as she saw Serah Ferrowlah sitting in the chair, wearing street clothes, actually sporting a blaster pistol on her hip. Even as her Master stood, Pimm ran to embrace the woman. “How? What, I mean, HOW?!” Pimm was tripping over her words as Serah laughed warmly, the two holding each other. “Your owner arranged this.” Serah’s words were calm, there was no agitation at calling Ja’on by that title, and Pimm felt shame at her distrust and appreciation for the Sith growing inside.

 

The two Jedi sat and talked, Pimm’s smile threatening to split her face. “What do you mean, Master? How did he arrange this?” Serah chuckled, looking around the clean room, distaste for the surroundings evident, “Three days ago, he came to Tython, had that young Sergeant from Havoc Squad bring him.” Pimm’s eyes went wide at this, “He informed the Council, and myself, how you had been recaptured, or reclaimed I should say, by the Cartel.” Serah met Pimm’s eyes, Pimm still unsure how that had happened. “Master Bela never processed P’fero as released, Pimm.” This struck the Twi’lek like a physical blow, body slumping, eyes downcast. “As much as I wanted to tear into her, he beat me to it. Slapped her. Her face is still bruised. Made her realize how very close we all were to losing you. It was fortune, most likely the Force itself, that guided him to you, my padawan.” Pimm nodded to this, before shaking her head, looking up, “He….slapped her?” Serah nodded, “Open palm, right hand across the left side of her face. She made it seem like, and he at the very least played along, that if he wanted to, that slap could have killed her. I was ready to, I never wanted you to go on that mission. But, then….” Serah shook her head, soft smile on her lips and in her voice, “He calmed me down, and reminded me of the Jedi way.”

 

Pimm laughed, nodding, then a somber mood hit her, “Master, what else happened.” Serah looked shocked, but composed herself. “One of our padawan, Phorsee, attacked him. Her brother was one of the Soldiers who participated in Azmi.” Pimm regarded Serah, and felt, ever to subtle, the active avoidance of the deeper subject. She had never been able to pick up those subtle thoughts and nuances before, but today, now, it was like a shining beacon to her. “There’s more, Serah. What happened.” Her Master looked at her, recognizing Pimm’s ability, opening then closing her mouth. “Phorsee’s brother was Drathus Artiga. He murdered pregnant women, fleeing and hiding civilians, executed a large number of people.” Pimm blinked, remembering Ja’on’s grief, the guilt he carried so willingly for killing the soldier, and recalled the unspoken need, for no other word could convey the desire, to hold his son. She regarded Serah, who in turn lowered her eyes, “Yes. He was the one who killed Dust.”

 

It was Pimm’s turn to lower her eyes, fear filling her. “What did he do to her?” Serah gave a cynical chuckle, shaking her head. “Destroyed her. Gave her multiple chances to just leave, even after putting her on her back. He then recounted the numbers, showed how many innocent civilians were murdered in that attack. Showed how they were in the wrong. Then demanded her brother’s name, and recounted every death he personally caused. It shattered the image she had of her sibling, destroyed her faith in the Republic always doing right.” Serah tilted her head, “Then he asked the council do nothing more to her for her actions.” This was misleading, but Serah had faith that Darreck was right in what Ja’on would have asked, and this part was missed by the Twi’lek. “He...came home, Serah. He looked defeated. Like the desire to even continue was dying inside him,” her purple eyes meeting her Master’s. “He carries the guilt of killing those men, even if his actions were justified. He carries the pain of what his actions caused.”

 

The two were quiet for a few moments, then Serah asked, “The bomb in your neck?” Pimm lifted and turned her head, showing the incision behind the brand she had received at Rayf’s home. “It carries enough power to destroy even the neck of a Hutt, but is small. Once my probation is up, that’ll be allowed to be removed. Then, another week, by Hutt law, before my slavery contract can be bought out.” Serah blinked, “What do you mean?” Pimm settled, the subject an old knowledge for her, one that didn’t phase her anymore. “In Hutt and Imperial space, if an owner wishes to fully free their slave, they must pay a fee, which is normally the same amount the slave was sold for, from the Cartel. They can be sold or gifted at no cost, but if the final owner wants them FREE, they have to pay that initial price. Since I was a runaway, the price I was auctioned for is my fee. But,” she giggled and blushed, “the way he burst into the room. I was up to seventy thousand, but he made the price drop to seven. No denomination, so, like, SEVEN credits. Only one was stupid enough to try and raise the bid, but they weren’t going to let them. Too afraid of him.”

 

Serah watched Pimm as she recounted her take on that night, before the Twi’lek met her gaze again. “He has been….wonderful, Master. My clothes are stuck at a certain style, because I’m a slave. But he doesn’t abuse his position. I clean because it keeps me busy. He cooks because he’s great at it. He wants this to be done, wants me back with you and the Order.” Her fingers went to the surgery site for the bomb, “I won’t lie, I was afraid when he sent me here. Why the deception?”

 

Serah was watching her padawan much closer than she appeared, catching the tiny inflections, the raise in pulse or temperature, the tiny smirks. But she was all smiles when looked at. “He’s a known Sith. You are just a suspected Force Sensitive. If you were caught talking with Jedi, or they came into your apartment,” Pimm blinked at the thought, seeing dozens of sequences of events unfold, and not one was a good one. “Exactly. So, he set up Aldolphis, who I am. He trusts Satele to see you as well, but she is too recognizable. He paid through the Aldolphis account to rent you for the dance. I just showed up with the identification, and here we are.” Serah’s eyes went to the brands, “I still feel like slapping Master Kiwiiks, you know.” Pimm laughed, fingers coming to the brand from Rayf, “I wish this one would be removed. And the others. But, that’s expensive.”

 

Serah nodded, “Pimm, you are not forgotten, or lost. But we can’t risk too much contact. He can contact us, and us contact him, but the next time we will see each other will be after your contract is bought out.” Pimm nodded, understanding the risks they all were taking. The two stood, embracing again, as the two minute light came on. “This is a disgusting place, and I must say, it speaks lowly of him to have ever entered here.” Pimm shook her head, looking at the hall, “The non auctioned girls are indentured. They all are working off their debt, and they only do as much as they want. Some dance, some do much more. Others just serve drinks. And most were in terrible places before. The owner, the non-Hutt one anyways, is a decent man.” One last hug, and the two left through their doors.

 

She was cloaked, back in a taxi, and entering their home a little bit later. He was cooking as the door slid shut, and she just watched him. He risked treason, no more than that. Torture until death at the hands of the Dark Council. All to save her from being forced back into the life of a slave. She dropped the cloak, her dancer’s outfit barely covering her body, approaching him slowly, as he glanced over. “I take it Aldolphis enjoyed your dance.” Pimm nodded as he turned back to his skillet, before she grabbed his arm, turning him to look at her, her left hand up into his hair to force him to look down at her, giving him a full eyeful, before leaning up and kissing him, softly, on the lips, for just a moment. He had frozen at the contact, eyes wide, though she realized he had grabbed her arm around the bicep at some point. Her voice was soft, “Thank you, Ja’on.” He swallowed, nodding, tried to smile, “Of course.” She heard how tight his voice was, and noticed the other tightness of his body, and shorts. She let him go, and slid his hand from her arm, turning away and collecting the cloak, heading to the bedroom to change.

 

In spite of that kiss, the next weeks were mostly uneventful. She was a little off put that he never pursued further, but appreciative at the same time. It was a spur of the moment thing, kissing him, and she almost regretted it. While she felt positive he wanted her, he never crossed that line, and was thankful. Because, all said and done, she was going to be released. Return to the Jedi Order. That kind of a relationship was outright forbidden, and, more importantly, when she admitted the truth, she still didn’t know how to show intimacy, a personal connection that close to someone, without her training kicking in, to turn it carnal. The fact he DIDN’T pursue her, to act on that kiss for more, comforted her more than any other thought.

 

“But, Ja’on, I want to know!” It was four days before her probation would end. He shook his head, “No, Pimm, you don’t.” In spite of his protests, he was grinning, laughter in his voice. “I do. I want to know what it felt like to slap Master Kiwiiks so fast that no one knew it was coming, and so hard that her face was bruised for DAYS.” She reached over, poking him, “Come on. Tell me!” He laughed again, shaking his head. “Ok. Oh Kay! Really? It was nothing.” Her face showed her disbelief, “No, it was! I wasn’t attacking her, so none saw it as a threat. I mean, think about any of your teachers who would make you do lines, or meditate, or whatever Jedi do as punishment. Is there ever any negative emotion? Ill will?” Pimm shook her head, grinning at him. “Exactly. Those are used to TEACH something, or reinforce an ideal. I used that slap to just show HOW badly she had messed up, nothing more. Though, her face when she realized how bad the situation was, was satisfying.”

 

Two nights before the end of probation, “How do you do it?” He looked up from servicing his weapons, lightsaber already fine tuned, blaster halfway taken apart, whet stone and prick blade laying on a cloth, “Hmm? Do what.” She got up from the holonet, moving to him, sitting next to him. “Be so…..right? You constantly uphold Jedi teachings and values, but I can feel your emotions all the time. How can you be both.” His hands paused in the practiced and smooth movements, turning to her, his face stern, “That, is actually a very dangerous topic, Pimm. I will ask, please don’t press on this. If you do, I will share, I will explain. But I have to warn you that it will be tempting, and what I will tell you, may very well corrupt you. But, I do believe that knowledge should never be hidden.”

 

Pimm swallowed, seeing the truth in his eyes, hearing his concern. There was no  _ “It’s too much for you,” _ or  _ “You can’t handle this.” _ It was the simplest statement, which was true to all of history, that knowledge can corrupt. He was quiet, patient, letting her think over her answer, before offering, “I’d like to know.” He nodded, “Give me a moment,” and finished his pistol. Once done, the weapons were back in  their case, and he took her to the living room, both sitting on the floor. “How well do you know the history of the Jedi, and the Sith?” Pimm gave a little shrug, a half-smirk on her lips, figuring he was going to try and bore her out of what he had to say with history lessons. He nodded, looking down, and started.

 

“The simplest truth is, Pimm, The Jedi are wrong. As are the Sith.” He looked up at her, and she felt….a void. Something huge, immense, though nothing visible happened. “The Founders of the Jedi Order, Rajivari, Jard, Sendon. They were not the first. Before the Jedi, were the Jed’ai, who walked in both light and darkness. The Jedi, after a war, decided they were right, and that the light side of the Force was virtuous. And this, this one decision, has led to, time and time again, the Sith.” Something in Ja’on’s voice had changed, and she felt something old and powerful instead of just him, though nothing else was there. Just the knowledge itself gave that power. “Those who disagree are shunned, outcast. And that division is what led to the Sith Empire.” She shook her head, realizing this was history, but so much more, and it frightened her, “Please, Ja’on.” He blinked, and that void was gone, looking at her. “How,” she could only ask, awed and scared, “I’ve sat at their feet, Pimm. Holocrons. Jedi and Sith, ancient, and recent. And, I never lost myself to them. I know our orders’ histories very well, and the truth that comes with that.”

 

Pimm shuddered and nodded, understanding. It also would explain part of how he was so powerful. If he had absorbed the knowledge of those ancient masters and dark lords, he would know techniques lost in time, absorbed some of that power those devices held. She just looked at him, and saw her own truth. In spite of what he knew, he wanted her true to her ideals. In spite of what he might be able to do, he held himself to a standard. In spite of that hidden power that she figured none knew about save her, he was still the same Ja’on. His eyes dropped, and she felt his own fear, fear that she would shun or reject him now. She moved to his side, wrapping her arms around his, looking up, “How about the short version?” He looked to her, relief washing from him, “Balance, between Light and Dark, Emotion and Peace. I’d never make a good Jedi, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what they try to do for the Galaxy.”

 

It was the day her probation ended. They both heard the beep from the remote for her collar, cuffs, and self-initiated detonation of the bomb. He went over, looking at it, “It has been deactivated. Let’s get that piece of hardware out of you.” She nodded, turning her head, knowing many owners just used the remote to extract the explosive, which from what she had seen and could imagine, hurt. He just looked at her, shaking his head. “No. We’re going to a doctor.” Her eyes widened, knowing it would cost money, but it would be clean. Soon, they were at the clinic, the zabrak doctor coming up, “So, one slave bomb inst,” he froze as he read the chart, looking at the Sith, “Removal?” Ja’on nodded, “I want it clean. No scar doctor. No risk of infection.” The zabrak nodded, “Of course,” before leading the two back, looking at the Sith. Finally Pimm was on the table, feeling apprehensive, but comforted by Ja’on’s presence. “Put her under, Doctor. She may be a slave, but that doesn’t mean she needs to suffer.” She heard a soft hiss, then blackness enveloped her mind, floating in peace.

 

When she woke up, her neck ached, but was at home already, curled against his body in the big chair. She heard his breathing, slow, even, soft, knowing he was out of it, and she looked at the chrono. It was...two hours earlier than her surgery! Sitting up, trying to make sure she wasn’t misreading the device, he stirred as well. “Good morning, Pimm,” he offered as she turned to look at him, but her neck made the rapid movements painful. “How? The time! How is it earlier!” She was frantic, but he just smiled at her, “It took a little longer than we thought, almost a full day ago now. I was there the whole time. He did nothing bad to you, I swear.” She looked at him, nodding, and leaned back against his chest. “Why does it hurt so much?” He gave a small shrug, and the drowsiness took her again, falling back to sleep, dreaming of flying over Nar Shaddaa, then higher, into space, free from everything that held her back.

 

Two days later, the dressings came off and she could shower. Stepping into the refresher, she stripped, starting the water, looking forward to that heat and pressure. She moved to the mirror, turning her head, looking at the incision. Healed completely, scarless, and her eyes drifted forward on her neck. She blinked. Then again. Fingers came to skin, running over it, eyes widening. Frantic, she used both hands, tears in her eyes, her skin smooth, unmarred….un branded. Her head dropped, holding herself, left hand across her stomach, right over her chest, fingertips on her neck, and her breath froze. Slowly, she turned, looking, feeling that part of her neck. The tears streamed down her face, as she could only give out a loud scream of pure joy, the marred and scarred brand also gone. From the house, she could literally FEEL his smile as she realized the surgery had been for more than the bomb. The tissue was tight, but wasn’t shiny or foreign looking. Instead, it looked like her skin had grown in, even her pattern filling in fully.

 

She felt him outside the door, her hands on her neck, feeling the flawless skin, “I...had hoped you would react like this, Pimm. The doctor grew and grafted the new skin on your neck, so it’s not from elsewhere on your body, and isn’t alien. It took, almost instantly, and the Kolto and my skills made the graft seamless. I’m sorry, if I overstepped myself, but I saw the looks on your face every time you would touch or think of those brands. While your memories shape you, physical memories can define you.” She threw open the door, his eyes flashing over her body, before he tried to look away, but she just grabbed him, hugging him tightly, wetting his shirt with her tears. “Thank you, Ja’on. Thank you.” His arms came around her, and the embrace was warm, comforting, and she pulled away. His eyes stayed on hers for a moment, then she was back in the refresher, and she could feel his rush, her nudity having thrown him off his normal point.  _ “At least I CAN do that to him, sometimes,” _ she thought to herself with a grin, and stepped into the water. There was another squeal as she realized her hip was also clean of the old brand.

 

It was the day before her contract would be available to be bought out, the apartment clean, her belongings ready, meaning the clothes she would wear the next day, and it was early in the afternoon. She couldn’t shake the soft melancholy she was feeling, sitting at the table, as he looked to her. “What’s wrong Pimm?” She felt it from him, as well. He had grown, at the very least, comfortable in their living arrangement, and it would end tomorrow. But hers was different, “I’m not sure. I’m just thinking of the other girls. While they were trying to break me, one girl, Esmer, was….awesome to me. She’s a good person, is indentured because she needed off Ryloth, and the traditional slavers weren’t going to take her. Too old.” He looked up at her, face questioning, “She’s twenty.” They both felt the spike of anger at how horrible the Twi’lek could  be to their own females, as a whole. “I want to help her, Ja’on. And….tomorrow I’ll probably never see this sithspit of a rock again.” He nodded, and went to the holonet, bringing up some information, and swiped a cred stick for her, and put it in her hand. “So, go, use the full amount, buy an hour or two.” He smiled at her, and she returned the grin, nodding.

 

Twenty minutes later she and Esmer were in the dancing room, sitting and laughing. “So, your Master GAVE you money to come to talk to me?” Pimm grinned, “Well, I said how much I adored you, and he knew we couldn’t talk without paying, so yeah!” The two girls just laughed again, Pimm’s own shock of how much was on the cred stick well hidden. He had given her thirty thousand, and since it was swiped into the database, she saw it killed over ninety percent of what Esmer still owed. She’d be free in a week! “So,” the other girl said, leaning forward, eyes wide, “How is that sith lord in bed?! I mean, you’re whole, so he can’t be THAT much of a sadist.” Pimm looked at the dancing girl, only mildly put out by the question, but answered truthfully. “I wouldn’t know! He hasn’t taken me.”

 

Esmer sat back, eyes wide, “Really?” There was something...off in her tone, as Pimm nodded, “Why?” Esmer shook her head, “Ok, I saw him after your dance. At first, I thought he had stuffed his lightsaber down his pants, but saw it on his belt. He was fit to RIP his pants clean off!” Pimm’s breath grew shallow at the thought, eyes down, “Then he broke that Bith’s hand, killed two wookies, and then bought you.” The damage and deaths, Pimm had not heard about, eyes widening, “How? I mean, I saw those two furballs.” Esmer nodded, “One he punched a hole through with lightning. The other he headbutted.” Pimm tried to process that, Ja’on’s lightning so strong as to arc-burn a hole THROUGH a wookie, and a headbutt that killed another but did nothing to him. She felt much warmer, knowing his need to rescue her pushed him like that, the only other emotion she had ever seen spiking his power being grief. “Well, he couldn’t have wanted me THAT much. He only paid seven credits.” Pimm laughed, trying to come to grips with this extra information.

 

Esmer didn’t laugh, “I guess that cocktail they kept you on messed you up. He didn’t pay seven.” Pimm looking up, brows furrowing, “Yeah, he did. I was up to seventy thousand. He came in. Bid seven. Pigface didn’t stop him, and told one who tried to out bid Master they couldn’t afford it,” finishing with another nervous laugh. Esmer still didn’t share her mirth, “We both know the Hutts wouldn’t let that happen, P’fero. They wouldn’t allow him to go down.” Pimm’s laughter died, her hearing sounding like she was underwater, “Sister, he paid seven,” and Pimm finished, “Million.” Esmer shook her head, Pimm’s eyes wide, “Hundred Million. Only the investor, that fat man? He was the only who could outbid your Master, but didn’t think you were worth it. Plus, I’m pretty sure that your Master wasn’t going to end there if they did try.” Pimm had to focus very hard to not faint, forcing her blood to work the right way, though the edges of her vision were still gray. Finally, “I need my makeup case, is it still here?” Esmer nodded, a quick trip into the hall and back, handing the box to Pimm. “Our time’s almost up, P’fero, and I know your probation finally ended. Thank your Master for me!” And she was gone.

 

Seven hundred million to buy her, and another seven hundred to buy her freedom. He had bought the apartment, so they had space and comfort, when the last home he had was to keep Mira useful to the Empire. The cost in ensuring she was safe was quickly approaching two billion credits, and they weren’t even a moment of hesitation for him. Then, getting to Tython, adhering to Jedi ideals that he KNEW were wrong, if the Dark Council found out, dying would be a release from what they would do. She clutched the box to her chest as all this added up. She knew he respected her, even liked her. But this….was something else. She didn’t know what, the words and emotions so foreign to her. She had no idea how to process what she was feeling, but realized that her old thoughts and impulses were wrong.

 

She got home, and it was empty, “Ja’on?” she called out, the knowledge she now had spiking that fear of abandonment. R7 chirruped repeatedly, and she went to the terminal, <<Ja’on went to the promenade. Ensuring tomorrow goes well. Planning subterfuge, making routes. Will be back later.>> Pimm nodded, and she asked, softly, “R7, does….does he desire me?” The droid was quiet for a long minute, then spoke, the beeps, chirps, and whistles soft, <<Badly.>> Then a vid played, the day she showered and hugged him, he was pacing, and she could see the bulge, “It won’t happen, it won’t happen, it won’t happen. It CAN’T happen. I’m not going to press her, take it. She’s leaving at the end of the week, just get through then, man.” It faded, and her lips had pulled into a smile. “R7, I need some help.”

 

Two hours later, she heard the door open and close, felt his body tired, but not beaten. “Pimm? Are you home?” She called, from the refresher, “Yeah! Thank you again for letting me go! And Esmer sends her thanks too!” She felt his building depression, knowing now how much he enjoyed having her here, seeing it inside him like that beacon she saw in Serah, and he knew it would be over. She was about to call out more, but he beat her to it, “I’m glad you two enjoyed your time. I’m going to change,” and she felt him go into the bedroom. Stepping back from the mirror, she looked at herself, lips a vibrant, glossy purple, soft blue eyeshadow. It had been years, prior to being captured, since she had to worry about makeup, but wanted to make this special. A soft dusting of blue and red blush on her cheeks accented her jaw and cheekbones, and she looked at her outfit. The net-mesh bodysuit clung to her curves, now spread tight to encase, only a few folds hiding her away. The binders were on her ankles and wrists, the remote tucked into her belt.

 

When she finally felt him sit, knowing he would only be in the undershorts or nude, she moved. She peeked into the room, the door ajar, and saw his bare thigh and hip, her breath catching. He just sat there, and she felt for him, felt his pain, knowing that in staying true to her, he would suffer more loss. Any doubts she had, melted away, pushing the door open, R7 changing the apartment to her request. The lights dimmed, and shifted to a red with splashes of normal light along a few walls. Next, a song started playing, slow, deep bass, and she stepped in, her body moving to the beat. He stood at the movement and lights, her violet eyes on his, ignoring for the moment his naked body. His eyes were on her, though, all of her. Face and makeup, her chest, hips, thighs, back up, and she felt his reaction, “Pimm.” She shook her head, coming up to him, pushing him back, and he fell to the bed, watching her.

 

The first dance he saw was a display, passion, and frantic. This was not, instead it was a show. Her hips swaying heavily with the beat, thighs rubbing as she moved, hands on her stomach, under her breasts, then down over her thighs as she squatted, legs wide to show him all she had. Back up, turning to show him her back, her head turning to stay locked on his eyes, and another spin to face him. Every movement brought her inches closer, but never touching him. She saw him watch her, eyes moving where she wanted them to be with every movement, the dance showcasing her body, telling him ‘This is yours,’ and he took it all in. As the song reached its peak, she was on her knees, between his legs, hands on his thighs, and she finally broke her gaze too look, gasping at what she saw, thick, hard, pulsing with his heartbeat, and realized the dream he put in the slaves’ heads on Corellia wasn’t that much of an exaggeration.

 

She brought herself closer, lips parting, eyes on him, but never touched him, coming up, the sides of her breasts on the insides of his thighs, the only thing he felt on his length was her breath, then one, two, and three strings of her body mesh. His eyes on hers now, as she finished standing, sliding first her left leg over his right, then her right over his left, straddling his lap, legs spread wide, the dying measures of the song having her run her hands down her body, his eyes following, ending between her thighs, pulling just enough to show him how slick she was, before back up, her hands in his hair, elbows on his shoulders, sliding her hips closer, until each could feel the other’s heat, but not actual skin.

 

He was at a loss for words, just staring at her. She could feel his need for her, his hunger, to devour her completely, claiming her. She could sense his awe, and saw the image from his mind of her on Alderaan in her noble’s gown. His breath hitched as, for the first time since Mira was placed in her tank, he WANTED another so badly he ached. And, fear. Tainting all of it. “Pimm,” he croaked, and she let him speak, “I….I can’t.” She smiled, rolling her hips down and back, feeling his body twitch under her, recognizing the control she had, “I think you can,” she countered, but he shook his head. “No. I can’t. I want this...so badly. But, what if…..” a thousand thoughts ran through his head, and she realized he knew she saw them, “What if you regret this?” was what he finally asked. She brought her face closer, fingertips rubbing his scalp, “I won’t. Ja’on. I trust you. I trust you with my life. I trust you,” noses touching, “To not let me fall. Please, trust me too.” Her head tilted, and his hands finally moved, coming up, right behind her head, left behind her waist, and he pulled her into a kiss.

 

This was not a small, tender kiss on her forehead. Nor was the the timid but sincere kiss she gave him after seeing Serah. This, was a kiss of passion and need, his desires poured into that contact, lips parting to meet hers, hungry, but not consuming, he didn’t ram his tongue into her mouth, nor did he give her a bruise. Intense, powerful, and he broke it a moment later. She was breathless, having never been kissed like that, kissed just to show desire. “It….it’s been a while, Pimm. I….” She nodded, pulling her hands from his hair, left reaching back to grab her ankle, her right to her waist, then to his hand on her back, putting the remote into it, then her other ankle. This stretched and arched her back, thrusting her chest forward, pressing her breasts against his chest, feeling his muscles and heartbeat. Her voice a whisper, “I trust you. With everything.” He began to see it, this wasn’t her training, nor was it just a base lust. It was a show, a sign, of affection, of trust, of intimacy. What he didn’t see was, she wanted to live one night as HIS slave, truly, all control in his hands, because she knew she was the safest she had ever been with another. She wanted to be his, because he wouldn’t let her succumb to being his.

 

His fingers played over the remote, and she felt the desires, the recognition grow. She saw the images, the wants, of her helpless under him, and felt him grow more excited. But he still hesitated, still afraid she would regret this, that she would panic and freak out. “I’m yours,” his eyes went to hers, as she just breathed the word, for the first time in her life the truest to her whole sense of self, “Master.”

 

She saw his eyes shift, lips pull into a smile, and felt his mind and body pull tight. The hand on her head slid down, around her neck from behind now, holding her firmly, his voice deepening a shade, but not that fake forced thing people do to try and impress, sending shivers over her body. "Pimm, do you mean that?" She knew, there was no wrong answer, and he would take her regardless, but WHAT he would do would change based on her her answer, her own breath speeding up at what she felt. His tenderness, his compassion, his honor would ravish her body, the two together. His need, his desire, his hunger would consume her, use her, but not to be neglected. "Yes, Master," she whispered, and heard the beep, her binders activating. Instead of wrist-to-wrist, however, they went wrist-to-ankle, the cuffs locking in a way that her hands could grab her calves, her toes pointing towards her elbows, arching her back further, but he supported her.

 

He stood, her body sliding down against his a bit before she felt free fall, then was on the bed, stomach down, her face over the edge, looking up at him, his tip in front of her. This angle, seeing it, its thickness, she swallowed, then rose her eyes to his, mouth opening obediently, tongue out. "Good girl," he gave her, placing the tip against her tongue, her lips kissing it, leaving a purple mark, seeing his lips pull into a smile. Then her mouth was filled, him sliding in, her lips sealing around the shaft, though her jaw was quickly forced all the way open. The tip was against the back of her throat, and she saw that far more was still out of her. Her tongue started working on the bottom of his length, starting to swallow, drawing him further in. His hand came to her head, holding her steady as she urged him to fill her, and started with a steady pressure. It quickly became difficult to breath, his thickness closing off her airway as she swallowed him, taking more and more.

 

She had the oddest sensation, realizing that his tip was past her collarbone now, and her nose was not yet against his pelvis. Her hips bucked, feeling the soft burn in her chest, but was calm enough to not panic, and at that depth, he began to pump, slowly at first, then faster, pushing a little further, her lips and his shaft glistening from her spit quickly. Her eyes lost focus, enjoying the sensation of being used like this, then tried to moan as his fingers stroked her lek'ku, his other hand down her back, over her rear, then over her thigh, fingers running along her lips, entire body going through a small spasm. Then, that filling presence was gone, strands of thick spit trailing from his shaft to her face, her taking a few gasping breaths. She looked at the purple ring on him, lips quivering. "Don't worry, that ring will be on the base. But I want to feel something." Then she was flipped, on her back, body splaying, open to him, his eyes over her form, and she saw him throb, growing thicker if possible, mouth opening, not even waiting.

 

The tip against her lips, his hand on her throat now. He then pushed, quickly filling her to the same point, she could feel how he made her throat swell, feeling his tip run under his fingers. As the spit began to coat her face again, now running up over her nose and forehead than over her chin. Then, one hand was on a breast, gripping it hard, the other between her legs, fingers playing over her, making her cry out as much as she could from pleasure, at the same moment, he thrust hard, her eyes closing as he hilted in her mouth, humping her face, body writhing as he continued to play with her.

 

He kept this up for a bit, her hips thrusting, trying to get more contact, to push herself closer to that relief, but something held her back. She knew it wasn't him, he wasn't torturing her with the Force. But she didn't know what was holding her back, then cold air in her mouth and throat as he pulled out, the pop as her lips broke contact loud, panting softly, mewling from his fingers, watching the glistening shaft bob and throb above her. Then his hands were off her body, and she was lifted. Turned and laid on the bed properly, and a beep, her limbs suddenly released, falling limply loose. Her eyes were on him, and knew he was not done with just releasing her. He took her arms, pulling them from behind her resting them on her stomach, then her legs. It was hard to hold the pose for him, as he worked, but she did, desperate to know he was pleased with her. He started to finish the pose, bringing her legs up, and she was thankful for her training as a dancer, and a Jedi. Her hips were folded all but in half, her thighs now laying beside her body, held in place by her ankles.

 

He released her feet, and she could feel the grip of energy still holding her in that folded up position. Then he took her arms, moving them out to the sides, bringing her up, then folded her arms at the elbows, her arms now pinning her legs, her wrists coming together behind her back, then a beep, and her wrists locked together. Her ankles were released, legs folding, and she was truly stuck, spread wide open for him. Then his fingers were against her lower lips, hooking the body mesh, then a tug, and she heard the hard nylon material snap strand after strand. He looked at her, his eyes dark, and she knew pain was going to come, her lips between her teeth, his voice matching his eyes, but comforting none the less, "You are safe under my hands." She nodded, then her chest felt the pressure, all the air pushed from her lungs, unable to draw breath, eyes going wide, body hitching, chest not responding. He lowered himself as she couldn't breathe, then felt his breath on her.

 

Watching him, breath locked, head already fuzzy from his fingers and the now lack of oxygen, she quivered before his tongue was on her, lapping at her lips, tasting her, then his muscle pulled tighter, parting her, teasing her nub with little flicks. Folded and stuck, all she could do was watch and shake, being pushed closer and closer to that release, but still couldn't find it, knowing her life was literally in his hands pushing her faster than his gifted tongue could alone. His lips came together, sucking as he played over her, then pulled away with a pop, and then back against her, tongue delving deep as it could go. Soon, even the little work it took to watch him became too much, and her head fell back, the edge of bliss so close it hurt, her chest burning, feeling her nipples harder than they ever had been before, knowing she was his. Her lower lips felt cool air, then sweet, sweet relief filled her lungs, gasping hard, her body burning from the ordeal. "Good girl, Pimm, you did wonderfully."

 

She looked up at him, his smile, his vandyke slick with her juices, his eyes and lips showing how she pleased him, and how much more he wanted her. His hands were on her thighs, pulling her to the very edge of the bed, almost hanging over it. He stepped up against her, resting himself on her, his sack against her, and she felt his tip near the top of her stomach, realizing the full size he had, how full she would be, and how badly she needed him inside her. A beep, and her wrists were free, unfolding quickly, but he grabbed her wrists, bringing them back behind her back, and relocked the binders, but now her legs weren't pinned in that full-nelson like spread, giving her a little more slack for when he filled her. "Are you ready, My girl?" She almost climaxed at that claim, whispering, "Yes, Master! Please!"

 

He nodded, pulling back, the tip against her, hot, thick, pushing in, her juices and spit letting it slide in, and inch after inch filled her, body shaking and trembling from the sensation, and she felt and heard the pull and ripping, him shredding the rest of her outfit, hands and mouth on her breasts as he sank into her. She felt it, years of need all focused on her, but more than just empty desire, it was HER that he wanted to experience it with! She felt his emotions, his feelings, he wanted her, had wanted her for a while, and tonight was going to fulfill all those needs. His hips began to pump now, each thrust sinking deeper and deeper into her, her head rubbing hard against the sheet, desperate now to feel her orgasm, needing him to fill her. A flash, and something just GREW inside her, her eyes wide as she realized, he was focusing all of the pleasure he was experiencing into her, letting her feel what her body was doing to him, that building pressure, that heat and wetness hugging him, tight and welcoming, tears streaming down her face, feeling his NEED for her.

 

He pulled away from her chest, hands on her hips, lifting her, beginning to pump her in earnest now, and she could see that bulge on her stomach as he pushed into her each thrust, her eyes mesmerized by the site, knowing he was deep enough to do that, and knowing he still had over a quarter, almost half, his length outside her at the deepest. He sped up, her eyes crossing from the pleasure, and yet she still couldn't, it was driving her mad, being pumped deeper and deeper each thrust, faster, building, growing thicker in her. Finally he stopped, her eyes focusing on him, seeing his body glistening, the concentration he was using, and felt how close he was. She knew he was going to pull out, but wanted to not, to finish exactly how and where he was. Without thought, her legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing hard enough to make her ankles touch, crying out in pain as he was forced deeper into her. "Pimm," he croaked, then they both heard the beep, her mind having activated the remote, locking her ankles, his eyes on hers, her swallowing. He was torn to finish, to take this offer, but did not want to ruin things, and she spoke, "I will not regret this. Trust me on this, do not hesitate. Do not think." Her words pushed him further, growing thicker, the next words coming to her mind, "Fill me, Ja'on. Make me yours, Master."

 

That did it, finishing the last hesitations in his mind, and he slid his leg onto the bed, sliding her back along the sheet, coming closer to her, his eyes on her, left hand cradling the right side of her face, thumb on her jaw and lips, then started slamming into her, hitting the full length on the first thrust. Pumping her fast and hard, she felt his heartbeat in her stomach, the pain from that depth and thickness maddening, but she wanted it. Tears running down her face, crying from the passion, from BELONGING. He accepted her, wanted her, ravished and devoured her. Guided her for her ideals, not his. She needed him, all those years of pain fading away, those who claimed to own her but saw nothing but a thing, burning off from the love he was giving her now. His eyes met hers, "With me, Pimm." The command, the permission, the one thing lacking, she realized now, and she felt that hotness filling her, spurt after spurt, her mind blaring white hot, eyes losing all focus, her voice sounding distant to herself as she orgasmed like she never had before in her life at his command.

 

It took moments, but for the two it seemed to be forever, his hips slamming into hers, draining himself into her fully, her mind blanking from the intensity. Finally, after both had calmed down, breathing heavily, her still locked in place, looking up at him, the two just grinning at each other. He came down, kissing her deeply, and as he broke, "Thank you Master," she murmured, and her eyes went wide feeling him grow thick again. "You didn't think we were done, did you?" Her lower lip vanished between her teeth again, "No, Master." Later, much later, they lay on the bed, the lights a soft blue and green now, her resting in the crook of his arm. "Four times," she moaned, feeling the ache from the different positions and being locked in them. He chuckled, softly, "The Force helps a lot with recovery." Neither spoke of the next day, resting and just enjoying the moment. As she looked at him, she saw that pit, that loss and grief, taking him, but not much, just a small part.

 

In an attempt to get his mind off that, her fingers on his chest, the sweat now cool on both their bodies, "How did you get these scars?" He looked over his body, seeing the ones she meant, and she realized it was a mistake. He was quiet a long moment, then spoke, admitting to her what Serah already knew, "I was a slave, Pimm. Before the Sith." Her eyes went wide, looking to him, the two meeting gazes, and she understood many aspects of who he was better. He spent time going over the scars, explaining how the Harvesters had used him, and their end. She slid her hips over his stomach, grinning down at him as his arms enveloped her, bringing her down. Finally, the two fell asleep after another two rounds.

 

The next morning came, and they woke up. He became cool, distant, and she appreciated it. She could feel it, the gripping desire inside him now to beg her to stay, to remain his, with him. And she knew, after last night, in spite of her oath to the Order, in spite of Serah, she would not be able to say no for long. They both showered, separately, he removed the binders but left the collar. A light breakfast, and they were dressed. He was dressed casually, lightsaber hidden, her in the least exposing outfit they had. Soon, it was time, with R7 chirping to announce it. They left the apartment, her looking back longingly one last time, before they boarded a taxi to the promenade.

 

It was incredibly crowded, some festival or another going on, with hundreds of people milling about. The organized chaos of a club had spread to the entire floor, and Pimm's eyes went wide. She didn't feel just Serah, or even Serah and Satele. She felt seven different Jedi in that crowd, all with a determined focus. In two, she realized they wanted to attack Ja'on, but would not yet, or at all if the deal went down right. He took her through the crowds to a table, the two sitting, waiting for something. Finally, the music in the area changed, and he nodded, looking at his datapad, and she felt four of those Jedi check something, a unified sense of approval, him nodding. "I'm getting a drink, stay here." She looked to him, that wall keeping all of his thoughts and emotions out of her view, and he gave her one last sidelong glance.

 

He stood, walking into the crowd, lost from sight almost immediately, but she could feel him. He passed Master Serah, the two bumping, and Pimm felt the remote for her collar pass hands from Sith to Jedi. Two steps later, Master Orgus Dinn was behind her, a large cloak over her body, her hands clasping it, hiding her body away. Four steps later, Serah was in view, but did not look at her, but the shock collar's latching came loose, and Tol Braga had passed behind her, the collar pulled off. Five steps after that, Master Shan was beside her, hand around her arm, soft smile, relief in her eyes, and Pimm stood, the two walking. One more step she felt all the Jedi surrounding them, Serah and Tol Braga placed the collar and remote on the table before falling into formation. She couldn't sense Ja'on anymore, feeling for him, but he was just gone. As they left the promenade, she looked back at the table, the devices gone, and then they were on the taxi pad that would take them to the republic friendly spaceport.


	17. Interlude: The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pimm and Ja'on must go back to their normal lives.

On Tython, Pimm stood before the Jedi Council, once again in her robes. It had been four hours since leaving Nar Shaddaa, and she had been examined by the healers, and cleared. Now was the debrief, though much of the formality was gone. Instead of being seated at the table, all of the Council were standing in a small circle around Pimm, before Satele motioned they all sit. Orgus started, "Jedi Pimm, first, I want to apologize on behalf of the Council for putting you at such risk, but commend you for staying brave in such a situation." This was met by nods in general from the members, and Pimm felt a small surge of pride at the praise.

Satele spoke next, "Please, Pimm, do understand, this question is not a question of doubt, but of necessity. During your time under him, did you have to perform any actions against the Republic." Pimm grinned and shook her head. "No Master Satele. After I was auctioned, he bought the apartment, and unless I was shopping, or with him just out to not be stuck, I stayed there." Satele smiled, then Jaric Kaedan spoke, "While there, did you learn or discover anything that we could use?" Pimm felt the hesitation in him, knowing he loathed having to ask, but was forced to. She shook her head, "No, he actually kept all of his actions low key. Played his hand close to his vest, if you would. He did not want to corrupt me, nor to compromise me. Considering the risk he and I were in, because of his intent on buying out my contract and releasing me, he did not want me to have any reason to draw the Empire's attention."

Serah finally spoke, the two looking at each other, "He continued to treat you well, then?" A flash of the night before came up, but Pimm just nodded. "Very well," she said, as the Council members all smiled, Orgus calmly saying, "I'm glad there is one Sith who can act with honor at least." Pimm knew Serah picked up the flush, however, and knew the two would be talking later. Finally, Bela Kiwiiks spoke, "Pimm." The Twi'lek looked at the Togruta, and she was shocked to realize she could still see the outline of the handprint on her face from the slap. "I, personally, need to apologize. It was my oversight that led to the Cartel still having a claim on you. If I had done my research right, if I had known the process, you would not have been in danger. I ask you, to please forgive me, if you can." All eyes were on her now, and Pimm would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't angry, but then two thoughts surfaced. First was Serah as Aldolphis, saying Bela was aware after that slap how badly she had messed up. The other was Ja'on saying the slap was to teach her, and she learned her lesson.

Finally, Pimm nodded, "I do forgive you, Master Bela. Please, do not worry about me, just if you do anything else in the future, know what needs to be done?" The Togruta smiled and nodded, "Thank you, Pimm." And the council all could pick up what was not said. In spite of the forgiveness, Pimm still was not fully accepting of Bela(though none save Serah could realize she was angry with the Jedi Master). Finally, the other woman stood, coming to Pimm, "I did visit Nar Shaddaa, on my own. I inquired to the process of slaves, the laws. I know your equipment you had on you at the time was all destroyed," to this Pimm nodded, feeling the loss of her lightsaber again. The incinerator had even destroyed her crystal, which was the biggest part, since that shade of violet was very difficult to find, one of the rarest colors. Bela then pulled from her robes a new saber, activating it, the bright deep violet blades springing from the emitters. "I know it does not make things right, Pimm, but I hope this may start to repair the damage my ignorance caused." The blades deactivated as Pimm stood, taking the weapon.

As she felt the weapon, she realized how much better it was than her older one. The double hilt was perfectly balanced, and she felt the high quality focusing lenses, the material strong, making the beams stronger. She recognized the focusing sights within the hilt, realizing she could now adjust the length and thickness of her blades, giving them more utility. Sensed the high output power supply. She felt the need to make up her mistake to Pimm put into every part of the weapon in her hands, recognized the days of hunting for the right shade in the crystals, the cost in the metal housing it all. Pimm recognized the quality was normally only put into lightsabers for the Masters, put into her weapon. "Thank you, Master Bela," she finally got out, and the debrief was over.

An hour later, Serah and Pimm were in a grove, deep in the woods, a stream nearby giving a soft rushing sound. Pimm's eyes were down as Serah watched her. Finally, her Master spoke, "You two did indulge." Pimm nodded, and felt resignation and a sigh from her Master. "Was it consensual? You both wished it?" Pimm looked up, and Serah rephrased the question, "He didn't force you?" Pimm swallowed, shaking her head to the last question, but voiced, "Yes, we both wanted it." Serah nodded, and Pimm felt a little faint, unsure what would happen. "I won't ask for details. I don't want them. I only have one question, and it is the important one Pimm. What happens now?" Pimm looked back up, meeting her Master's eyes. "I am back home, Master. Jedi Knight. My past has less, almost no grip on me now. He has already returned, or will shortly, to the Empire. If our paths cross as non enemies, he may be a potential ally. If they cross as enemies, I will meet him on the field of battle, with honor."

Serah smiled, relief flooding from her, then paused. "Your past has less hold? How so?" Out of habit, Pimm had still been wrapping her lek'ku up around her neck, which she took down. First, she showed her side where Rayf's brand had been, the skin completely natural now, Serah's eyes wide. Then Pimm showed her other side, the ugly, scarred brand gone as well. "The one on my hip as well. He paid for cloned skin and grafting." Serah's mouth opened and closed a couple times, knowing the cost of such a procedure. Pimm continued, "It was because he knew how I felt about them. And, he had been a slave himself, before being found by the Sith, Master." Serah nodded to this, "I was aware. I learned that on Alderaan." The two smiled, Pimm sighing happily as she touched the unmarred skin, "I owe him nothing for this, Master, in his mind and mine. There is no worry that I will follow him to the Empire, I promise."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ja'on returned to the apartment, entering it, feeling defeated. He dropped into the large chair, holding the shock collar and remote, looking at them. That day, twelve times he was ready to beg her to stay with him. The only reason he would not follow her, surrender to the Jedi, was the threat the Sith would pose. As the Council's right hand, his years of service, he knew too much to be allowed to live. A heavy sigh, his thumbs playing over the cool metal in his hands. R7 let out a series of chirps and beeps, "Yes, R7, she made it safely." He stood, moving to the bedroom. From his wardrobe, he pulled out a case, her binders, collar, and remote all going into it. This, he put in her wardrobe, then emptied his wardrobe of his armor, and his weapon case.

Slowly, he packed everything into a case, after dressing in his normal battle robes. R7 chirruped more, "Yes, back to the Eagle. I'll keep the apartment, since it's nice, and sometimes I'd like a little more room, but I'm not going to stay here." Finally, he finished everything, the remaining food and stores as well. "Alright R7," he moved to the terminal, inserting a data cube, and heard the beeping as R7 transferred into it. Finally, the computer was empty, and he went to his cases. One last look, eyes falling to the office, before he left, securing the apartment, and in forty minutes was on the Jade Eagle, R7 fully installed in the ship instead of being split between the two places.

In space, he was catching up on news, his eyes scrolling over information on the Dark Council, his lips pursing, corners pulling down in a frown. Since Alderaan, Dellick and Bathar had died, under normal circumstances. But then, it was normal to die when decapitated by a lightsaber, or when fourteen kilos of poison were found inside a body. Only Raskas remained from the Council members that he knew, as all of the others had been changed. An annoyed sigh filled his lungs as R7 announced an incoming call. He donned his mask, moving to the terminal, activating it, eyes wide as Darth Mortis appeared before him. The Councilman regarded Ja'on for only a moment, "Darth Junath. You are to report to the Council. Immediately." Ja'on nodded as the comm cut, paling under his mask. Darth Mortis was leader of the Sphere of Law and Justice, putting him in charge of upholding and handling all internal issues. As the Eagle flew to Korriban, Ja'on went over the month. Had he slipped? Had Mark betrayed him? Had someone captured Darreck and broken him? Was he just observed?

After landing, he was met by an armed escort, though they did not demand his weapon, instead simply escorting him to the Council chamber. Upon entering, the entire council, again minus the Emperor, were present. Darth Mortis spoke, "Darth Junath, you are the Council's right hand, are you not." Ja'on nodded, voice calm, though his anxiety was spiking, "I am, M'Lord." Mortis's eyes narrowed, "You seem nervous, Darth Junath. Why." A hint of a smile filled Ja'on's voice, "When the Lord of the Sphere of Law and Justice demands a Sith's immediate presence, one cannot help but feel a sense of fear. I am not aware of anything I had done to warrant your attention M'Lord, but sometimes transgressions can be made in ignorance." This made the Councilman smile and laugh, "I understand. No, not you. I am taking you to task, Darth Junath. The Empire has a traitor. You are to deal with them."

Ja'on nodded, "As the Council desires, of course." Mortis nodded, "One of our former overseers. Jean. My apprentice, Zavrasha will be joining you to ensure the task is complete. We know she is trying to defect to the Jedi." Ja'on nodded, then departed. As he went to find the pureblood apprentice, his heart began to race, knowing he must hunt down, and kill, his former overseer, and would be watched by the apprentice of a Dark Councilman. A very precarious position indeed.


	18. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ja'on is called upon for his position to the Dark Council.

Darth Junath and Zavrasha both went through the Academy, the young pureblood following the human, her eyes on his back. "What are we doing," she asked, tersely. Once they reached Jean's office, he finally spoke, "We are investigating. We know she has failed the Empire, and failed enough to warrant death at the hands of Law and Justice. We know she is attempting to defect to the Republic, to the Jedi Order. But we do not know what she did, or why. By discerning these," his masked face turned to the red-skinned woman, "We will discern where she is heading and how she plans on reaching them." Not impressed, but compliant, Zavrasha nodded, and the two began searching Jean's office. The pureblood found pictures and holos, seeing Jean's parents, her as a child, other things from her past. Ja'on was searching the terminal, looking over records.

Zavrasha found one image, making her pause, "She was your overseer?" Ja'on simply nodded in response, the pureblood's eyes on his frame. "And you are going to execute her now?" Ja'on let off a snort still scanning the files on the terminal, "Of course. It is my duty. She has failed and worse, ran." Finally, his workings brought up information, a holovid of a new Overseer, Harkun, confronting Jean. "You let this...filth! These aliens and slaves live! They are weak, impure, and deserve nothing! And you are allowing them to actually make apprentice! WORSE! You do not kill those who fail!" Jean was silent, but backhanded the man when he finished, "You are new here, Harkun. I will make this clear, I will NOT waste a resource because they are ill fit for this Master or that."

Another video, Jean, Harkun, and Darth Raskas together, no audio, but it was obvious that Raskas and Harkun agreed, and Jean ended up looking defeated. "Well, we know how she failed now," but Ja'on shook his head, drawing her gaze again. "She could change at that point. This is where she failed." He brought up, very hidden but found, files. Records of 'failures' being shuttled away. Smuggled off planet. Hidden to escape. Then she was found, four days prior. "She defied her orders. This is her failure, and then she ran." He scanned over the files, the direct shuttles and smugglings off planet. "The pattern...it's there. Right there." Zavrasha came over, looking over the files, shaking her head. "Where?”

He manipulated the files and interface, and then of the over sixty saved failures, forty five had made it off world. Of those thirty eight all were sent to Nar Shaddaa. "There. The same shuttle or shippers. Sympathetic, and all travel from here to Nar Shaddaa. She has four days head start, but it would be difficult for her to walk straight to SIS or a Jedi. She may still be there, but if not," the pureblood finally nodded, "We'll be closer." An hour later, the two were on the Jade Eagle, flying into space, hitting hyperspace. "What do you know of her?" Ja'on turned to face her, "Quick witted, a sharp mind, but her ability with the Force is weak at best. Compared to any of us, she is almost a non-user. But she is sharp, fast thinking. She can be quite dangerous."

Two hours later, the Jade Eagle fell out of Hyperspace, and came in for a landing on Nar Shaddaa. Ja'on led the pureblood through the docks, a specific goal in mind. The woman watched him, wary, unsure of his motives. Seeming to feel this, "This will be a very painful hunt, Zavrasha, if you continue to distrust me." The pureblood laughed, "Oh? How so?" He stopped outside a specific loading dock, turning to her. "If you continue to distrust me, you will waste valuable energy, time, and MY patience when you can be helping." He turned back to the loading dock, opening the door and stepping through. He felt the young woman's hesitation at his comment, but she followed a moment later.

The two approached the ship's captain, Ja'on silent as Zavrasha watched. The captain froze at the motion, looking back and seizing as he spied the two Sith approaching. His droids continued to work, the man looking very much like he wanted to run, the two Sith separating from each other, all but flanking him. A moment later, both were within arm's reach. Ja'on watched him, impassive, his mask showing no emotion, not even letting his eyes be seen, the man growing more and more nervous. Finally, his voice trembling, "D...Darth Junath! A pleasant surprise!" He remained silent, and the pureblood could feel the man's fear spiking.

The captain looked between the two, taking a half step back, though Ja'on, and then Zavrasha, followed suit. Then another, and another until the captain's back was against a wall. Finally, the man croaked out, "Wh...what do you want?" Ja'on finally tilted his head, "Jean. I know you have been helping her. And you were on Korriban four days ago." The man simply goes white at this, knees trembling. "I....I...." A soft sound, like crackling, was heard, and everyone could smell ozone. Zavrasha finally spoke, "Don't lie. Don't tell us you know nothing." At her words, the lightning Ja'on had been channeling could be seen spider-walking across his right arm, the arcs bouncing along almost merrily.

The ship's captain's eyes darted down to flickering and walking arcs of electricity, swallowing dryly, voice a hoarse whisper, "I.....please, don't kill me." He finally rose his eyes to Ja'on's mask, "She paid me. Just extra containers every so often!" Darth Junath's voice was a dark growl, "Where. Is. SHE." The man's eyes closed, crying out, "I don't know! I brought her, she paid me well, and she left!" Zavashra laughed, a dry, mirthless noise. "And? Surely she told you SOMETHING of her plans." The man sank to his knees, crying, "She didn't! I just know she headed towards the Nikto sector!"

Ja'on nodded, the electricity fading from view, turning to leave as he heard Zavashra's lightsaber light. He didn't look back, but said, "I wouldn't." The pureblood turned to him, face outraged. "You wouldn't? He's a worm! Beneath us! Not even imperial, and he has been taking failures who would be dead! He helped your beloved overseer escape!" He felt the woman's rage, and the captain's fear, and still did not face them. "I won't stop you, Zavashra, but I wouldn't. After all, you said it. He's not Imperial. He's under Hutt employment." He finally looked back as Zavashra's face lost its edge. "If he were on Korriban now, I would take his head for his actions. But we are not home, we are at his. His masters watch this bay, not ours."

Zavashra still held her anger, "So we let him escape justice for his betrayal?" Her voice shook softly, still ready to strike, but something in his words was stopping her. "Not at all, Zavashra. But killing him will have consequences, some that will truly be damning. The Hutts do not appreciate their pilots dying on their own worlds. They are monitoring this dock now. While they may not come and arrest you, they will be far less likely to continue trade with the Empire." She looked back at the captain, "Then, what would YOU say? How would you handle him?" Ja'on finally faced her fully, "Report him. Let the admiralty know. Tell port control at Korriban. He'll never land on our planets again, losing him money. Word will spread. And we keep our peace."

The pureblood blinked at him, a wicked grin pulling on her lips as the captain cried out, "I'll be ruined!" With a hiss, her saber was extinguished, and the two left the dock. Five minutes later, they were in the Nikto sector, looking for signs of where Jean may have gone. The Nikto themselves gave the two wide berth, before Ja'on stopped, and looked at a small bar. "Here."

The two Sith entered the bar, only two patrons were sitting at tables, and the tender behind the bar. The pureblood wasn't sure what Darth Junath had sensed, why he chose here, so she stayed a pace behind the human as he went up to the bar, resting his hands on the old wood, it creaking under his weight. The bartender looked up, nonplussed by the red skinned woman or the masked visage regarding him. "We don't like Sith here. Get out." Ja'on felt her anger spike at the dismissive attitude, as well as the lack of fear or respect for them, but his voice was calm, "Interesting view, since the Nikto don't like the Republic."

He felt the man's mind grind, before he laughed, "Republic? That's rich. But you're right, I'm Senator Hoity-Toity Pants from the Poodoo system! And those two are my aides!" The three men laughed, before Ja'on spoke again, "No. You three are SIS, guarding a listening post under the bar. Don't," he said as he felt all three reaching for their blasters, "Don't bother. We'll simply kill the two behind me, and torture you for the information I want." Zavashra hadn't seen the subtle movements, nor picked up the intent from the men, and the bartender laughed even harder, "Oh, I see! The Sith are taking the insane now!"

Under the mask, Ja'on smirked, mentally applauding the man's ability to keep up the charade, "Alpha niner niner Omega Lambda Zeta two two fiver niner." The laughter stopped dead, and now the clink of metal being moved could be heard, though none drew their blasters yet, the man behind the bar's face going stone cold. "Do I need to finish the access code for the panel under the Corellian Whiskey?" The agent shook his head, and Ja'on felt the three men's fear spike, and Zavashra's grin widen, "I want Jean, scum. I know she was here." The SIS agent glanced to his right, then sighed, knowing he would never reach the panic button.

"She came in four days ago, but is already gone. I urged her to go to Coruscant, but she needed to go to Manaan." Ja'on nodded, pushing up from the bar, "How long ago." The man met his gaze as the two others stood, "Why should I tell you. We do outnumber you, after all." It was Ja'on's turn to laugh, "Against two Dark Lords? Darth Junath and one who is next in line for the Dark Council?" The man swallowed dryly, "I'm asking right now, agent. I'll be demanding in a moment." Finally, he nodded, breaking eye contact, "Two days ago." With that, Ja'on turned, leaving the bar, but Zavashra hesitated at the door, "We should kill them, Darth Junath!"

To this, he paused, looking back, "No. The Treaty must be upheld. This location is compromised, they know it. But if we attack them here and now, it will look bad on us. Give the Republic reason to restart the war. While foolhardy, and futile, it is not a good time for that." He felt her frustration, her desire to kill the three men, and he continued, "And we have a traitor to execute." This broke her finally, following him from the bar, back to the starport.

Manaan was the same, then Kashyyyk, then Yavin 4, then Dantooine. Every stop, they missed Jean by two days. One and a half. Three. Zavashra was growing irate, but admired Darth Junath's determination, and she felt it as well, they were closing in. Even when their quarry had made it off planet with more extra days, that window was closing, getting smaller and smaller. For two weeks, they pursued, getting closer each time. During that time, the pureblood observed, learned, saw the lessons he was teaching, saw the importance of appearances over direct action. Her Master, Lord of Laws and Justice, who ensured the Sith were held accountable to the Council, used subterfuge and skill over power regularly, but here she saw the "why" of it.

A week in, as they flew through hyperspace, she approached him. "I am bored, Darth Junath. While I see the prudence and need for all the subtle manipulations, for not just killing, it is difficult to contain." She reached up, tracing a finger over his chest. "Can you think of anything that," but was cut off as his hand gripped her wrist, and she felt the strength of the muscles, eyes widening just a bit. "I'm offering you a chance to be with a True Sith," but a growl from his mask cut her off. "The last pureblood who attempted to use racial superiority against me, Zavashra, died." She swallowed, "How?" He leaned in closer, "I threw him across the atrium."

She blinked, remembering that event from over a year prior, recognizing the mask and stature. "I...I see." She tried to withdraw her hand but he did not let her go, though his voice did soften, "Do not mistake my lack of desire as an insult, Zavashra. I just am not interested, not with a woman I don't love." She blinked at him, then lowered her eyes, well aware of his past, "Your wife." He let her hand go, inclining his head just a fraction, before he went back to the bridge. "No, not Mira."

At the end of the second week, while on Balmorra, the village that Jean had visited was gathered around the two Sith, all on their knees. Darth Junath's emotionless mask looked over the crowd, "We know she was here. I don't care why. Just where she was headed. I know at least one of you DO know this information, and unless they speak up now, I will start extracting that information." At the end of his words, his arms both crackled to life with electricity, the civilians crying out and falling back, but one girl stood, "WAIT!"

He turned to her, Zavashra moving through the crowd, grabbing the girl by her hair, dragging her before the Right Hand of the Dark Council, forcing her to her knees. The girl trembled, her fear palpable, "Please! You...you're right! She did come! My...sister...was a failed acolyte. The Overseer sent her home, got her out. She came to visit, but a week ago, my sister had died. She was collecting plants on the fields, and a war droid thought she was a rebel, shot her down." The electricity faded, and he grabbed the girl by her throat, Zavashra letting her go, before he brought her to his face, her feet dangling and kicking weakly. "Where did she go," he hissed from behind the mask, her voice hoarse and cracking from the grip, "She....met a...Jedi! They...left....six hours ago!" He dropped the girl, who started coughing and gasping, staying on her hands and knees at his feet.

"Where. Did. They. Go." The girl hesitated, and a bolt of electricity shot from his hand, hitting the man the girl had been kneeling by, his voice crying out in pain as he slumped. "Tell me. Or he suffers more." The girl sobbed, "Tatooine! They left for Tatooine!" Zavashra looked to Darth Junath, and he felt her eagerness, "I leave their fate to you, as this is your Master's realm, Zavashra. But, know this, they did not aid Jean, even this girl tried to drive her out. They saw her for the traitor she was." This mellowed the pureblood, who nodded, "Then they do not die, Darth Junath. But this girl did us no favors, she must be punished." The pureblood regarded the woman on her hands and knees, "Left arm up, worm." Trembling the girl rose her left arm out, straight, and Darth Junath grabbed her forearm, holding it stock still, his other hand on the side of her chest, keeping her arm rigid.

A snap, hiss, a thrum of energy, and the girl screamed in pain, her hand removed at the wrist. Darth Junath then let her chest go, taking the cauterized stump in his hands, and the girl settled, the pain bleeding away as the tissue was healed and sealed. Zavashra deactivated her lightsaber, stepping through the crowd, heading towards the Jade Eagle, and after he finished, Darth Junath followed. The girl, former acolyte Bridget, looked up, holding her stump, knowing the Sith Lord knew better, knowing she owed him her life. It was his whispers in her mind, urging her to claim a family member instead of herself.

In hyperspace, closing in on their quarry, Ja'on was on the holoterminal, Keeper of Intelligence appearing, "M'Lord! It is a pleasure." Ja'on nodded, "Is Cipher 3 currently in use," to which Keeper shook his head, "No, M'Lord. He actually just finished a mission, and has been busying himself with Watcher now. Looking up information for some project or another." Ja'on almost laughed, "Please put me in contact." The terminal flickered, and Cipher 3's face came into view, "Darth Junath, M'Lord, I was expecting you. Your quarry, and her escorts, yes two, are scheduled to leave Anchorhead shortly, but you should reach planetfall prior. Sending the skiff’s details now." The computer bleeped softly, and the masked visage met the now cybernetic face of Cipher 3, "Thank you, Cipher. Make your way there now. Most likely Mos Eisley." To this, the agent nodded, the comm cut, and Zavashra let out a soft whistle, obviously impressed. "They are beneath us, but the fact that you are that familiar with them, is impressive, Darth Junath."

Ten minutes later, the dustball of the desert planet filled their view, the Jade Eagle screaming through the sky towards Anchorhead. As they approached, a large skiff, heavy but well suited for the desert, capable of low altitude flight launched, flying towards Mos Eisley. As the Jade Eagle came up from behind, closing the distance slowly, Darth Junath activated the controls, and the two could hear the S-foils activate, putting the ship into full combat mode. Less than a kilometer from the next town, he got a lock, and fired, two blue bolts of energy flying from the wing tips, smashing into the skiff, which crackled with that energy, losing altitude, and crashing into the desert, but stayed whole. "Why didn't you use the lasers? Why the Ion Cannons? Why disable?!" He could feel her anger, his voice carrying his amusement at her expense, "Because if our prey is not on there, we'll know. If we destroyed it assuming they were, we would fail." This settled the pureblood, and moments later they were docking, and both knew the skiff's survivors were making their way to the safe haven.


	19. The Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When pursued with death on the line, one should just run. But for some, some things are more important than their own life.

Jean, one of Korriban's numerous overseers, sat in her office, going over her terminal, thoughts a pleasant chaotic mess. She was looking over files, just pieces of data that didn't seem to make any sense, recognizing what each meant. Years ago, over two decades in fact, she had one acolyte that she thought of often. He showed her many things, including what a waste it was to kill acolytes that didn't meet a given Master's needs, since they could always fill another's. She started seeing worth in aliens. Ja'on showed her much in honor, devotion, and loyalty without sacrificing passion. She began to rethink what weakness was, and rose her students accordingly.

Recently, however, a new upstart, Harkun, had taken offense to her methods, claiming it was weakening the Empire, the Sith. Tainting it. She put him in his place, but he had returned again and again, until five months ago, she feared for her life from his efforts. Darth Raskas of the Council came down, and personally laid out what was expected of her. That the Sith way was to weed out the weak. Finally, Jean caved, and agreed to the Council Woman's orders, Harkun leaving in triumph. Instead of leaving, however, Darth Raskas sat, and spoke, "What drove you to such...interesting views Overseer?" Jean swallowed, dryly, unsure where this was leading, but offered the truth. "Darth Junath...he was one of mine. In fact, I was his Overseer when Darth Mathick took him as apprentice." This seemed to draw the other woman's attention now, nodding for her to continue. "He showed me...thoughts. Ideas. Mainly, that we are WASTING potential, wasting resources, by killing our acolytes! And...I believe in that, Darth Raskas."

The Dark Lady nodded, "I see. I see. Well, I can certainly see that raising good, solid acolytes is your passion, Overseer. One I truly commend you for, but the Council is in agreement with Harkun. Those too weak to succeed, must go." At this, the woman stood, resting her hand on Jean's shoulder, "Darth Junath's passion for honor has certainly rubbed off on you. I would hate to see one that he, well I wouldn't say finds favorable, but one he has taught a valuable lesson to? Yes. That. I would hate to see one he sought to teach ruined. Just remember, no one cares about a corpse." Jean wasn't sure, but she swore Raskas winked at her, then left her office. This idea set in motion months of work, but Jean had never slept better.

Instead of killing her acolytes, she made them vanish. Some she had run into the deserts of Korriban, others she personally paid to have smuggled from the Academy on the various cargo ships that brought supplies and slaves. She found one captain, who she paid well, but he was sympathetic, he seemed to truly enjoy ensuring those children and young adults who would have died could live. And each she managed to get off planet, she kept records of. The files barely had any data, but she knew what the sparse characters meant. Names, dates, homes of their families. And she knew Darth Raskas was right, no one would hunt down and reacquire a dead acolyte, a failure. She was counting, over seventy such lives saved, though her bank account was starting to look a little threadbare. But, it was still worth it. These students, these acolytes, these....children. HER children. They looked up to her, learned FOR her. They needed more than a heavy hand, they needed nurturing, caring for. And she was that.

A blip showed a message had come in, drawing her lips into a smile. She had, in her months, acquired a friend, only known as M. M had shown her the way to the captain. Shown her maps, charts, and information. M had, in their own way, been as responsible for saving those acolytes as Jean herself. But, in spite of the good she was doing, the overseer always was worried, for flaunting the Dark Council's rules, on Korriban no less, was suicide. The fact she had made it five months was wonderful, but she always worried she would be found. Clicking on the message, her blood ran cold, "They know. Run. -M" After reading it, the message deleted itself, wiped fully from the system. Jean quickly powered down her terminal, wishing she had more time, more warning. Given that, she would have wiped the memory banks fully, but she relied on her system thus far, and was forced to continue that reliance. She grabbed her bug out bag, nothing more than a week’s worth of rations that the Imperial troops would eat in the field, and a comm that was not known to belong to her, and a couple spare sets of clothes. From her desk, she took her lightsaber and credstick, and then was out. Through the hallways, the atrium, the open desert air, to the cargo docks. Finally, she approached the captain she had used so many times, who grinned at her.

"How many cargo canisters today?" She handed him the stick, "Five thousand, one passenger, no questions." He looked at the stick, then at her, face screwing up. He knew very well what he had been smuggling these months, but this was far from the norm. She tried to look bored as the growing dread filled her stomach, "Make your decision quickly, captain. I am busy after all. I just want to go to Nar Shaddaa, and yours is the fastest way there." Finally, he nodded, swiping her stick and handing it back, the two loaded, and ten minutes later were in space. She sat, stoic, calm, doing all she could to keep the sense of panic and helplessness at bay. "I'm guessing no more canisters for you, Jean?" She shook her head, "No. No more canisters. The last one, where was it delivered to?" The man looked at her, lips pursed, and she felt him reach for his blaster, "That'll cost ya. I'm guessing I'm going ta be in trouble, aren't I." She looked at him, her own lips curled into a sneering frown, "I'm already paying you double your passenger rates, you've made plenty off me. As for trouble, let me ask this. What is one plus one?"

The man blinked at the shift of conversation, "Huh?" She asked again, "It's simple. What is one plus one?" He laughed, obviously thinking the woman had gone mad, "Two." She nodded, "Only a person who can look at one plus one, and realize that it equals one hundred could find my records. Only one who can look at one plus one and see one million could read my files." She looked away from him, "And only one who can see infinity in just one, will understand them. So NO. You aren't in trouble. Now. Where did the last shipment get delivered." The man's confusion and perplexion obvious, but somehow he understood what he said, "Nikto sector. Dunno where." She just nodded, and soon the city came into view, the ship docking, and she left. "But, Jean. One plus one ONLY equals two!" he offered, and she looked at him, voice hollow, "That's what I used to think."

Soon, she was entering the bar, seeing the three SIS agents tending bar and acting like passed out drunks. They looked up to her, and she knew they had identified her, and she felt three blasters drawn. She walked up to the bar, first placing her lightsaber on the surface, then held her wrists together, resting on the wood. "I'm only here to talk. A zabrack came here, from Korriban. I'm Jean. I need to talk to him." The door to the bar slammed shut, and she felt all three men train their blasters on her. Even if she hadn't disarmed herself, she knew she would be dead, her voice soft, "Please. Bind me if you must. Just let me talk to Zacharias." The two came behind her, one barrel on her head, the other on her ribs, as the bartender complied, putting her wrists in binders. Then, a holo came up, and a young Zabrack face came into view. "Jean, from Korriban, is here."

The youth's face pulled instantly to terror, turning to the Sith. "Jean?! But...but! You said! I!" Feeling the two men ready to execute her, she leaned forward, "Zacharias, You are! I swear it! You are safe, free!" The young man started to calm, the bartender, "Then why are you here, Sith?" His voice an angry growl, the animosity so powerful even she could feel it, "Zacharias, I've been found out. I had to come, I had to make sure you're safe! I swear, that is the only reason I'm here!" She bowed her head, "Please. Believe me." The zabrack finished calming, looking at her via holo, "You mean that Mama?" She looked up, smiling, and nodding, "Of course! I wouldn't, COULDN'T, hurt you. Are you safe?" He nodded but she cut him off, "Don't tell me. I'm just glad you are. STAY safe. Don't try to stop anyone looking for me. I don't want them to hurt my baby." The boy nodded, and the holo died, leaving her with the three, "Please. I have so many more to check on. And, ultimately, I need to try and get to Coruscant, but my acolytes come first."

They did release her, and she checked on the other acolytes she knew lived on Nar Shaddaa. Some had joined the gangs, others finding legitimate work for the Hutts, well as legitimate work as one could find for them. Some, had unfortunately passed away from random violence or disease, but their families all said how happy they were to be home. Two days later, she was on Manaan. There was less trouble finding her acolyte there, since non Selkath were rare on the planet, and there was less issue. But her second day there, her holocom pinged, and she answered, it was the ship captain. "YOU SAID I WAS SAFE!" Jean blinked, shaking her head, "What do you mean?" The man was livid, though she could see the terror he still carried, "I was just accosted! Darth Mortis's apprentice was just here! THEY FIGURED OUT YOUR ONE PLUS ONE EQUALS POODOO!" He shook his head, trembling, "I'm RUINED because of you! And they knew to go to the Nikto sector. I wasn't about to die for you too!" And the comm died. Her eyes wide, she knew Zavashra, knew her bloodlust was only tempered by Mortis's passion for justice.

She had prayed it would take longer, or never, for the system to be figured out. Now, she knew she was being actively pursued, at least by Zavashra. She was back on a transport, this one by Czerka Corporation, the next stop Kashyyyk, her holo pinging again. This time, Zacharias, "Mama?" Her voice, her nerves, she forced her body under control, "Hey Zacharias. What's up?" He looked frightened, but unharmed, "Mama, the boys just said two Sith came. Looking for you. They knew we were playing secret agents. Knew the secret knock too!" Jean swallowed, hard, "Mama, they had to tell you went to oceanland." She nodded, trying so hard for the fear to not taint her words, "I see sweety. Are you ok? Are the boys ok?" He nodded, smiling, "Yeah. The man said the Treat must be held." He looked to the side, "Oh! The Treats must be UPheld." Jean just nodded, smiling, "Yeah, that makes sense. The man doesn't want war. They left already?" The zabrack nodded, and she said, "Ok. I'm going light tunnel now, Zacharias. You do what the boys tell you. Stay safe." His grin was almost infectious, "You too mama!"

Kashyyyk, Yavin 4, Dantooine. She checked on her acolytes, seeing them thrive in the non-Sith environments, though not every story was a happy one. Life was hard for the people, but all her former students were, in the end, pleased to see her. She kept her presence to a minimum, only showing herself when needed. She knew Darth Mortis was closing in, felt the noose tightening around her neck, knowing every stop was a step closer for her pursuers. But, she needed to ensure they were safe, happy. She knew if she could reach them all, even if she failed to make it to Republic space properly, she could face her execution with her pride, and piece of mind. Finally, just shy of three weeks after M's message, she was on Balmorra.

"Bridget, how are you?" Her former acolyte, quite a bit older than many she had seen, smiled. "Excellent, Jean! I...I can't thank you enough. Getting me home to Balmorra, after the Council decreed you would kill those who...." she shook her head. "Nathaniel and I are actually engaged," referring to the tall man who was working outside, "Not something I would have gotten had I stayed there." The two women, a sisterly bond between them, smiled at each other. "I'm glad, Bridget. Glad you're happy, safe." The former student brought over some steaming caf, Jean taking one of the mugs. "What are you doing checking on us, though, Jean? Isn't that like...insanely stupid and dangerous?" The older woman could only laugh, softly, "I've been found out. I'm slowly making my way to Republic space. You're my last acolyte, though. I...I had to make sure you were safe."

The two sat and talked for a while longer, before Jean stood to leave. Nathaniel gave her a warm smile and wave, the two women heading towards the transport that would take Jean to Nar Shaddaa. As the two talked, a shuttle broke atmosphere, flying in towards Sobrik, and Jean froze, looking up at it. Bridget did as well, but she didn't suffer the same shock of terror Jean had, only noticing it on the older woman's face. "Jean....what's wrong?" Jean gaped, then swallowed, hard. "I thought Darth Mortis and Zavashra were hunting me down." Bridget nodded, looking back to the shuttle as it became smaller and smaller. "And?" she finally prompted, Jean breaking her terror stricken gaze. "And that's not Darth Mortis's ship. That's the Jade Eagle." Bridget shook her head, not familiar with the name, Jean's voice a whisper, "That's Darth Junath's ship." This name had the effect on Bridget that Jean had already suffered.

The former acolyte was older than the rest, because she had been an acolyte of Jean's for over a year. She remembered feeling that horrible, gripping grief in his presence over a year ago, remembered him fighting her class, twelve on one, him using only his off hand, his vibroblade off. She remembered the welt she took from the tip of that weapon on her ribs when he had 'killed' her. Her eyes were now locked on the horizon where the ship had vanished. "Him? Here?" Panic quickly filled in the emotional gaps that the fear had not filled, looking to the peaceful village, her family, Nathaniel's family, their friends. She looked back at Jean, face showing her distress, when the older woman grabbed her shoulders. "JEAN HE KNOWS MY FACE!" Bridget cried, shaking, as the former overseer tightened the grip, steadying the girl. "He is terrifying, but he is honorable, Bridget! RUN. Run now. He won't hurt anyone here without you!" The girl looked around frantically, and Jean spoke firmly, "He is The Avenger of Azmi because those PIGS murdered over two thousand civilians, Bridget. He is not going to murder anyone here just for me. Run, be safe, he'll leave when he finds nothing."

The two began to run the opposite direction of Sobrik City, hoping to perhaps find a transport, or ANYTHING, that would let them flee, when Jean felt a disturbance, and came to a halt, stopping Bridget as well. A second later, her lightsaber was out, as a red-skinned Twi'lek came into view, holding a lightsaber of her own. Jean was ready to attack, when the Twi'lek put her saber away, "You look the part, are you Jean?" This made the overseer stop, but she did not answer. "Listen, I'm not Sith! I know, my skin, but still, please listen. I'm a Jedi. We received word from an SIS listening post on Nar Shaddaa that you are trying to defect. It's been difficult finding you, but I'm here to help." Jean didn't disable her saber, stepping in front of Bridget, face set, ready for the end, when the other woman spoke, "I understand your fear, Jean. But I have heard from others you are being pursued, correct?" Jean nodded, and the Twi'lek continued, "You two are running, so I assume your pursuers are here. If they find you, what will happen?" Jean's voice was tight, "I die." The woman nodded, "I'm trying to help you get away, Jean. I know it's still a risk, but it is NOT a certainty. Please. I'm asking for your trust."

Bridget finally spoke, "I believe her Jean. She's not attacking you." Finally, Jean nodded, disabling her weapon, the so-called Jedi smiling. "Thank you. Now, let's get going. There's a transport about forty kilometers behind me, it's heading to Tatooine. There, my Master will get us to Coruscant." Jean hesitated, looking to Bridget, who smiled, "I know these hills well enough to hide safely for weeks. If he acts like you say, I'll be fine. Go." Finally, the two women parted, the Twi'lek leading Jean to a small outpost. An hour later, they were in space. "I've only been to Tatooine twice, Jean, months ago, and just before coming here. It's horribly hot, and sandy. Just wanted to let you know if you haven't been there." Jean still did not trust the red-skinned woman, in spite of her affable nature, too paranoid it was a trap. Soon, they were out of hyperspace, the twin suns of Tatooine always too bright, the dustball itself so white washed with the sand it looked like a star itself. After breaking atmosphere, they landed, and disembarked. The Twi'lek led Jean to an older looking woman, human, with an easy smile. Jean gasped, "You...You're Master Ferrowlah! I know you from what you did during the open war!" Serah smiled and nodded, "A pleasure to meet you Jean. And of course, my padawan, though she is a Jedi Knight herself, Pimm." The red-skinned Twi'lek offered a smiling greeting, and Jean dropped to her knees, sobbing, relief flooding her.

Serah and Pimm helped her up, the human quickly explaining. "Listen, I don't know what window we have, but there are no shuttles from Anchorhead to the Core. We're stuck if we want to wait." Terror began to creep back into Jean's heart, but Serah finished, "Fortunately, we have other options. I have a private transport waiting for us in Mos Eisley. Once we reach there, we will be safe, and on Coruscant shortly after. There's an air barge, a smaller one, heading there in about six hours." She offered Jean a warm smile, "I know it can be nerve wracking, but it's a short wait."

Five hours later, six total now since leaving Balmorra, Jean's comm pinged. She answered, and Bridget's face, tight, pained, came up. "Jean...I'm...I'm sorry." The overseer gasped, "What...what happened?!" "I was hiding, and I felt....something. I knew if I wasn't there...they would kill everyone. There was no doubt. So, I returned, as they showed up just a little bit ago. He was ready to start hurting people, so I gave up." She took a shuddering breath, "I was ready to out myself...and he did recognize me. He put a suggestion in my head, told me to lie. That it was a dead sister. I felt him there the whole time, Jean. Like a shadow on my mind. He demanded to know where you went. I'm sorry!" She broke down, sobbing, as Jean wanted nothing more than to reach through the communicator and hug her, to tell her it's ok. "Are they there?" Bridget shook her head, "No. They left, though she wanted to kill everyone still. He lied to her then, told her we all tried to drive you out. Since I hesitated, I was punished by her." She held up her stump, then back down, Pimm and Serah's faces hard behind the holo. "But he healed it. Made sure it was clean. He's going to be there soon, Jean. Please! PLEASE be gone!" Jean could only smile, nodding, "We've already gone from Tatooine to Taris. I know, that isn't any better, but no one knew where we were headed. Once we resupply, I'll be safe. I promise." Relief flooded the younger woman's face, before the comm cut.

Soon, they were aboard the barge, Serah and Pimm not commenting on the lie, understanding the need to calm the woman. "Zavashra is vile, a sadist, but not mindless. She is determined, bloodthirsty. She is the one I'm worried about." Jean was explaining to the two her pursuers as the barge-skiff left port, climbing and speeding up. "She can be single minded at times, but the one she is with is the one I'm scared of. He's been keeping her at bay, but is immensely powerful." The barge started to sway, as though trying to evade something, and the two Jedi stiffened, before something smashed into the hull, lights dying, blue arcs flying across circuit cards, and the barge fell to the ground with a deafening crash. Jean was the first to recover, the people aboard trying to collect themselves. She went to Pimm, who was still strapped in her seat, and noticed a fearful look on her face, her hands on her abdomen, before the Twi'lek unbuckled and stood, the two helping Serah. All could hear the scream as whatever had attacked them flew past, and Serah finally asked, "Who is the other pursuer then?" Jean couldn't look at them, expecting their reactions, "Darth Junath, Lord of Grief, and the Council's right hand."

Jean looked at the two Jedi, expecting horrified, or at least neutral expressions, her own eyes widening at the smiles on their faces. Pimm's seemed...deeper than Serah's, but both had a definite grin. Jean's own face could only pull into a confused look, and Serah calmly explained, "We've had encounters in the past. We know him to be honorable." Pimm added, "A good man." Jean could only smile, before her face fell, as did Serah's, "But he is loyal and dedicated, to the Empire. To the Council." Pimm's own grin finally faded, looking down, a somber mood. Finally, the Twi'lek spoke, "We just need to get to the docks, avoid him, make it to the ship and get out. Then we'll be safe."

Shortly, all the passengers, only minor injuries sustained by the lot, had left the skiff, starting the trek to Mos Eisley. Not even half way there, they were met by a man in heavy armor, carrying a large autocannon, Pimm's voice bright, "Darreck! How are you doing?" The scarred mercenary did not return the smile, "Not good, Pimm. What in blazes happened?" Serah answered, "Darth Junath, in the Jade Eagle, shot down the barge. Let's just get to your ship, Darreck, and go." To this announcement, Darreck paled, and shook his head. "I...we...can't. Not against the Eagle." Pimm laughed, "Darreck, you have a non-demilitarized BT7! One of the finest ships we can produce!" The mercenary gave a half smirk, worry in his eyes, "Yeah, but neither I, or my brothers, know how to fly combat, Pimm. We're all ground pounders. He'll pick us off like we were nothing."

Jean looked to the three, realized they all put so much on the line for her, and how futile it was turning out to be. Finally, she broke the somber silence, "Just..you three go. Thank you, truly, for trying. But we can't run, and while I don't doubt your skills, Master Jedis, but I doubt we can defeat Darth Junath. Just...go. I will face him." She couldn't meet any of the other's gazes, but knew the truth that they couldn't win. But Pimm brightened, "We...don't need to beat him. We just need to get him away from his ship, so we can circle back. Load up and leave. If we can hit hyperspace before he gets airborne, we're free." She described her plan, quickly, everyone agreeing, though Jean was shocked something so, well, devious and calculating would be thought up by a Jedi. She knew one thing, Darth Junath would not be rash, nor stupid about his search. The quartet, an interesting group, left for one of the side entrances of town, starting their plans.


	20. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When hunters and those they hunt meet, rarely is there a fight.

After landing the ship, Darth Junath stood and left the bridge, Zavashra behind him. "We will find her here. If she surrenders, you can present her to your Master. If she fights, I will end her quickly." He paused as he heard her lightsaber turn on, felt her disgust spike, "She is a traitor, a weak, runaway traitor! A quick death is too good for her, and you will noAAAAAAAAH!" She hadn't even seen him move, before his backhand had caught her across her face, smashing her into the bulkhead of the ship. She looked up at him, nose scrunching as she snarled at him. "You DARE?! MY Master is," and again she couldn't even see him move, but she was now held up, by her throat, finding it hard to breathe, her right hand in his other fist, feeling the painful grip, her eyes crossing from the pressure on both points.

His voice was hard, merciless, and irritated. "If she fights, I will engage. I do not fight to torture. I do not draw it out. THAT leads to complacency. Holes in defenses. IF she fights, Zavashra, I will kill her. As I see fit. If you interfere," he squeezed tighter, and the pureblood could feel her heartbeat in her ears, pounding, even as her feet hit him over and over, he didn't seem to notice, "I will end you. Your Master is A, a SINGLE, member of the Dark Council. I serve the Council as a whole." He then threw her down to the deck, her skidding until she hit the next bulkhead, her staring up at him. "This is not a position held by many. Only a handful can juggle the differing needs. Few can maintain the martial prowess required." He started to advance on her, "And almost NONE have the dedication required to devote themselves so fully to the role. If you die, none will question it. Now." He paused, standing over her now, "Are you DONE questioning me, apprentice?!" She just nodded, fear spiking through her heart, before he turned and opened the loading ramp to the outside.

The pureblood hated the human, he felt it, but she feared him more. She was remembering how he had thrown the acolyte across the atrium, in fact she was the one to put him up to it, just to toy with the human. She remembered the sickening crunch as he hit the wall. She remembered how he faced down an entire class, one of Jean's in fact, with a disabled vibroblade. And that was over a year ago. Before he had made Darth, before the Council adopted him as their right hand. She followed him, a healthy distance back, and saw now how he was tolerating her. He certainly didn't need her, he had intimate contacts in intelligence, his skill and strength unmatched that she had seen.

As they left the docking station, the cybernetic Cipher Three met them. "I verified before coming, M'Lord. Our quarry certainly was on the barge, and they, along with the other survivors, should be heading here. There is a declassified, but not demilitarized, BT7 as well." Ja'on nodded, Zavashra uncertain what that meant. "Then that is their transport. Jean will be dead before she reaches that dock. Now, let us inspect the survivors." The three moved to the town entrance the mass of people were heading towards, beating the crowd by minutes. The three waded through the crowd, and he could taste their fear at the presence of two Sith. When the two Jedi and Jean did not appear, he grabbed one of the crew, gently by the arm.

"There were three individuals. One a woman, the other two I do not know." He pulled out a datapad, showing an image of Jean, the crewman swallowing, "So you recognize her. Where is she." The crewman looked up into that mask, "They, all women, helped us all. They met up with a soldier or a bounty hunter, I couldn't tell you who. But they stayed behind the rest of us, but I saw them being to make their way here, but a different entrance, I think." Ja'on nodded, letting the person go, turning to Cipher and Zavashra, "Cipher, go find a roof. Zavashra, you are with me. We will sweep the streets, staying close to the starport." Even before the pureblood could ask what was happening, Cipher was gone, and Darth Junath was walking off, forcing the woman to run to catch up, knowing better than to irritate him by asking questions.

Twenty minutes later, his gait slowed, eyes moving back and forth, and he felt Zavashra slow down as well, fear in her voice, "What?" He glanced at her, "The crowd." She looked around, a soft laugh, "What crowd. They're gone." He nodded, "Exactly. That's the problem." Something dawned on Zavashra's face, as the two came to a halt, looking around. He reached out, feeling, then turned towards the alley to their right as he saw movement. "Hello, Jean," he said, and Zavashra turned to the former overseer as well. The woman looked haggard, tired, and fearful, "Darth Junath." She inclined her head to him, respect in her tone.

"You have been found in defiance of the Dark Council's will. Defied direct orders, failed to uphold the Sith ideals and code, and then ran like a coward." He had taken his lightsaber off his belt, but refrained from lighting it, Zavashra following his lead. He could feel her anxiety, her desire to attack, her need to cause pain, but she refrained, which was a good thing, for her. Jean on the other hand lifted her chin, resolve growing, "Yes. I admit guilt to all charges, because I learned long ago that killing for no reason, was a waste. I saw it pointless to destroy lives that could be useful. And I have no shame in that!"

Darth Junath's voice lost a bit of its edge, "I never said I found fault with your intent or actions, Jean. This is not something I do with ease. I know you care for your acolytes, I know you were trying in all earnest to strengthen the Empire with your actions. In fact, your passion and conviction, I find admirable. I personally applaud you. As such, I give you the choice, Jean. Surrender to us now, go before the council, and be tried by our laws. Or," now his silver blade sprung to life, "Face me in honorable combat. I swear, I will make your end painless as I can."

At that vow, Jean seized, just a bit, her lips pulling up, a smirk pulling into a smile, before she started laughing, tears in her eyes, the sound both awed and manic. Her hands came to her stomach as she continued to laugh, and Ja'on couldn't help himself, the noise infectious, and he started to chuckle himself, as though the two shared a joke. Zavashra, left out of the humor of the situation, grew angry, screaming at the two, "WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING ABOUT?!" Jean was able to get herself under control, still giggling, "Hehehe, Well the thing is, hehe, that as kriffed as my situation is, hahahaha, that was the most comforting thing I've heard, haha, in weeks!" She broke out in another fit of giggles, looking Ja'on in the eyes of his mask, "Thank you."

This explanation got through to Zavashra, and she started her own little laughter, nodding. Finally, the three calmed down, and Jean just looked at the two. "I.....Thank you Darth Junath. Sincerely." He nodded to her, as she continued, "But you forgot. There is the third choice?" It was Zavashra's turn for a manic giggle now, "What? Face us both and win?" And Jean shook her head, "No," she pulled a device from her belt, thumb hitting a switch, "Running." The next instant, the ground under and around Ja'on and Zavashra exploded, a loud blast and blinding light washing over them, sand flying high and raining down on the Sith.

Within seconds of the explosion, Ja'on was watching Jean run down the alleyway she had come from, before looking at Zavashra. The explosions were flash-bangs, loud and bright, more than enough to disorient or even stun people who weren't ready, but soon as she had reached for the remote, he had shielded himself. The Pureblood, however, was on her back, writhing in pain, hands over her eyes. A heavy sigh, he waved his hands over her, the pain ending much faster than it would naturally. "SHE'S DEAD!" Zavashra screamed, getting up to charge, before stopping short as the silver beam of energy came up before her face. She turned to Darth Junath, and he felt her ready to attack, "WHY?! One little trap and," he cut her off, "One trap you could have avoided had you paid. Attention. Now shut your mouth." His empty hand came to his pocket, pulling out his comm, "Cipher. Have you found them." The other man's voice was calm, quiet, "Not yet, M'Lord, but I do see her." Ja'on nodded, "Take the shot. Kill if you can. Occupy them otherwise."

Zavashra saw the cybernetic man pop on a roof, a rifle in hands, drawing a bead on Jean's body, before his rooftop exploded! Multiple mortar rounds kept smashing into his location, before laser bolts came from the middle of the explosions, returning fire of his attackers. The pureblood looked at Junath now, "Another trap?" He regarded her, and knew she felt his irritation boring into her body, her taking a step back, "Yes. Are you incapable of reaching out with the Force? They aren't exactly hard to see. However, Cipher is more than a match for them. Let's go." Without waiting, he was running down the alley now, her following a step later.

The two sped down the narrow street, vaulting over debris and trash. The men who Cipher was engaging tried to turn to the two Sith, but one such opponent was shot down, the two Sith deflecting the occasional bolt that did get launched at them. The whole while, they were closing in on the woman, and Ja'on felt Zavashra's anger and excitement growing with each step. Ten meters, six meters, every second bringing them closer and closer, two meters from being able to launch an assault. The last two steps, and Zavashra leapt from behind him, attempting to reach Jean, when he stopped dead, grabbed her by her robe back. The opposing motions made her feet fly forward, then dropped very flatly onto her back. "WHAT NOW," she started to scream when the wall ahead of them exploded, the duracrete and steel smashing across the alley, hitting the opposing wall. Had he not grabbed her, she would have been in the middle of that debris.

She got to her feet, and the two realized there was no noise of an explosion, just the wall itself shattering, before they heard the snap and hiss of a lightsaber. "This one is yours," before turning and starting back up the alley. The opponent started launching debris at him, still hidden inside the building, but his saber cut down the projectiles, leaping up on a larger one, flying gracefully through the floating rocks, silver beam clearing his path. As he passed the opening in the wall, for an instant, he saw Serah, her gaze meeting his, the moment stretching for an eternity. Their minds touched, briefly, he felt her resignation, she felt his regret that it came to this, her lips offering a sorry smile. Then he was passed her, as she stepped out to meet the pureblood, their lightsabers starting to clash.

"Just a dozen meters, Ja'on. Just close it, end it, then the fight can stop," his voice silent, thoughts urging him faster. Jean made it out of the alley, continuing across the square, for the open desert beyond. His legs became a blur, his vision warping as he pushed himself beyond his body's natural capability. It was obviously a chase, a way to lure him away. They would double back, stalling him. But if he could make it the last five, four, three meters, cut her down, it would end. Jean made it through the archway, two seconds later so did he. She had taken a hard left, him following, before his arm swung, the lightsaber whirling through the air, before he felt the surge, hands coming up to protect his face and body as a form of energy and mass hit the ground between him and Jean, a shockwave of pure power roaring around him, blowing sand, and even his own body, back, his saber deactivated and flying away. He was forced to drop to his hands to prevent being blown onto his back, left hand and wrist buried in the sand, right hand flung into the air, bringing the saber back to him and grabbing it, standing as the energy faded, looking at the source, his voice tight, but warm. "Hello, Pimm."


	21. The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, two clash because of opposing ideals. This time, it is a clash of opposing needs.

Pimm stood, slowly, her face set, watching him, feeling Jean stop behind her, the show of power awing her. "Keep running, Jean! We'll meet you at the ship in the Desert!" The former overseer nodded, and continued to run into the sand. Her attention was fully on the Sith in front of her. She felt his mind, knew that he did not want to fight her, but the determination, the absolute determination, to finish his task was daunting. "Darth Junath," she returned the greeting. While his saber was in hand, it was not lit, her own saber held and still off. He started to step to the side, her following. Instead of circling each other, she was mirroring him, unwilling to give him an opening to chase down the woman behind her.

His head dipped, and she felt the sincerity, "Pimm, please. I will ask you once, step aside. I don't want to fight you, but I will kill Jean here." Pimm looked down, a soft shudder in her breath, "You would murder a woman for saving lives?" Her words were soft, since she knew him, knew that wasn't like him, but there was no doubt, he was not playing some angle to save the former overseer, his intent was death. She could feel a soft rise of amusement, "No. I will execute a traitor of the Empire, who has defied the Dark Council's direct orders and been found. I would rather kill her myself, and carry that guilt, since it will be painless from me. Darth Mortis, would never be so merciful." Pimm's lips pulled into a soft smile, THAT made sense to her, her eyes coming to his mask.

Swallowing, wanting every bit as she knew he felt to not fight, she couldn't stand down. "I can't, Ja'on." She took a step forward, unhesitant in her movement, but not foolish enough to run to him, "I can't let you do this. Please!" her face lost its stoic edge, the woman behind the Jedi pleading with the man before her, "Please! Just leave them! Leave the Empire, join us! Don't carry their weight, don't be their tool! You KNOW they're wrong!" For two breaths, he was silent, and she felt it, a crack in his determination, a surge of joy that she asked, but that was quickly stifled. "Pimm, I can't." She swallowed, not for his words, but the tone. It was heavy, thick, the last time she had heard his voice like that was when Mira had asked him to let her die.

Pimm nodded, face down, jaw quivering. Her left hand twitched, but no other movement from her, before whispering, "What now, then? You can't leave the Empire or let her live. I can't let you kill her." She didn't watch, the snap of his lightsaber activating made her close her eyes. His voice, however, drew her gaze, soft, caring, respectful, "Then we meet in combat, Pimm. With honor, and respect. No anger or hate." Her jaw quivered, his head lowering, "Pimm, I....." he hesitated, she felt his mind trying to find the right words, "I respect you too much to give you less than my best. And I...I care about you too much to give you my worst. I regret our paths clash here, but there are no other ways around. Please, do me the honor of giving me your all?" Her lips pulled into a smile, recognizing the chosen words, feeling the emotions behind them running far deeper. A twirl of her saber, held in front of her, parallel to the ground, she nodded, the bright, deep purple blades humming to life, and she felt his surprise. "Master Bela's apology," she explained, and he laughed, nodding.

For almost a full minute the two stood there, neither moving, but in their minds, a duel was already playing out, blades clashing hard, neither gaining an advantage over the other, the Force showing each how each attack would be countered, each dodge would be met by another swing. She felt his shock, but it was a pleased one, recognizing her training had been paying off. Then, an explosion of sand blew from her, his body turning to shield his face, since the mask wasn't environmentally sealed, and he turned back, a yelp of surprise as his lightsaber came to block hers.

The cracks and hisses of their sabers, the blurs of red skin and violet energy met and matched by black cloth and silver light. Both stayed in Makashi form, dueling each other, the lightsabers humming with their swings. Pimm knew if he had reason to draw on his rage or grief, she would be hard pressed to stay alive, but that was the worst he mentioned. The worst parts of himself that he did not want to inflict on her, to hurt her with, cared too much about her to show in this fight. The sounds of mortar explosions and laser blasts still echoed from the rooftops, and as the two fought, the got further and further from the wall and entrance to town. She saw a clash of red and blue from the archway, knowing Serah and Zavashra were still fighting, and she could feel the pureblood's hate pushing her to her limit, Serah's skill keeping even that wrath at bay easily. Then there was Ja'on.

She deflected a horizontal swipe at her shoulder, leaping and landing three rapid, hard kicks to his chest, staggering him and knocking him back, while the third kick pushed her away from him, landing on her feet. He was truly giving no quarter, his attacks all calculated, strong, powerful still, his strength and agility nothing short of awe inspiring, but she knew he had twenty five years of experience so that didn't shock her. What shocked her was, every moment, his sense of joy, of amazement, grew. Because of her. She saw an image of her cutting him down, his final thoughts being glad it was her. Another where she overpowered him, then him over her. The two were back again, blades clashing, hissing and cracking in the dry air, gouges of discolored glass where the beams had cut through the sand. A wave of Force hit her, knocking her back, and she saw herself and him in the forests of Kashyyyk, sparring in hand to hand combat, both nearly naked, her eyes wide as he shook his head, squashing the memory. "What?" she asked, "A dream," he responded, and she couldn't help but grin brightly, lip vanishing between her teeth as he finished, "Before Taris." The admission to wanting her, even then, gave her a thrill.

She gave him a moment, not wanting to press when such a tender thought, regardless of how that had played out in his dream, had distracted him. He nodded his thanks, then he charged her, ready to re-engage the fight, and a blast of energy and sand came from her, causing him to turn his head, and the Force was focused inward now. When he turned back, she was gone, her focus hiding and masking her lifesigns, her abilities, and literally bent light around her, disappearing from all senses. He stilled himself, looking around, careful and on the defense, fully. He was looking for signs of movement, for the ever-so-soft blur that her body would still show, however, she was stepping and leaping into the already-there footprints, the heat of the desert distorting vision everywhere. In a couple seconds, she was behind him, then grabbed a boulder from his other side, and pulled it at him, and as she had hoped, he used a ball of energy to shatter it, his voice showing his surprise as she attacked him from behind, the two engaging in a heavy, hard spar. While he was able to deflect every blow she launched at him, she gave no quarter, not giving him a chance to turn and face her.

She felt the click, and grinned at his back as she deactivated her sabers both, and planted the hardest kick, focusing as much of the Force as she could muster into her muscles, into his back. He was launched forward, a cry of pain from the impact, but he didn't stumble and fall on his face. He took his momentum, turning it into a flip, and landed, heavily, facing her. She was panting from the exertion, the fight having drug on for minutes now, the laser fight on the roofs ended, Serah and Zavashra still going, now in the desert themselves, near a rock formation that Pimm and Ja'on had passed. To her surprise, however, she saw HIM breathing heavily. No amount of words, or joy, from him would have ever made her think she could match him, and she knew for a fact that if he spiked himself, she would be overpowered without fail. But here, now, a duel of skill, strength, and ability, she was wearing him down as well, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, proud that she had progressed that far. He nodded to her, obviously feeling her sensation, but neither spoke. Two breaths, they waited, then he was ready to advance again, her saber reactivating.

Then, she reached out, grabbing his left arm, and pulled, hard, the phrick blade almost wrenching from him, his arm locked out, the mechanism that held the blade not releasing its hold. She felt more than heard him growl, then he started to pull back, muscles only at first, but then forced to use his own energy to pull back on the blade and his arm. The two struggled for control over the blade, then she changed directions, trying to throw his arm out to his side, further to his left, his arm swinging before he regained control. "Not....bad Pimm!" he called, before she dropped her saber, swinging her power to his right, while simultaneously launching an arc of lightning at him. Not his body, not his armor, but right at the guard of the phrick blade. As the electricity hit, the two force users trying to pull the blade to his right, was too much for the brittle material, the blade snapping clean at the impact point. More than that, however, his energy launched the now disconnected blade to his right fast, her energy controlling it. In the span of a blink of an eye, they had gone from trying to fight for control over his arm, to her launching that lightsaber killing knife to, and through, his own lightsaber.

With a flicker, the silver energy died from sight, the phrick hitting the ground a dozen meters away, bouncing and cartwheeling across the sand until it hit a boulder and shattered fully. The two had watched the blade's progress, then back to each other, as her lightsaber came back to her hand and reactivated. He started to laugh, not manic, not angry, but amused and awed, "Did you see how many times it bounced?" She nodded, sensing his mirth, his joy in this fight, her own lips pulling into a smile. As he hooked his lightsaber onto his belt, he fell into a hand-to-hand fighting style, she recognized it as what he had used on Alderaan, and knew he was still very much a threat, "Very well done." But instead of either attacking, both paused, having felt a pulse, Pimm's eyes drawing over his shoulder, to the red and blue hundreds of meters behind him, his own head turning to see.

Serah had lost her control over the fight, and by appearances was on her knees, the red blade smashing into hers over and over. The blue light was then thrown out to the side, and the red came down, hard, and Pimm felt the scream of pain from Serah's mind, the blue light falling and fading from view, but the body did not crumple. In an instant, Pimm saw how Serah had slipped, and fell to the defensive, unable to regain control, unable to get her feet. Pimm's right arm burned at the connection, knowing her Master had lost the limb just below the shoulder, and for an instant saw the pureblood, hate in her eyes and sadistic grin on her lips, ready to strike her down. Ja'on was turning back to the Twi'lek, then tried to move out of the way before Pimm screamed, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

She didn't know what, or how, but that scream wasn't just words. She felt the fear of losing Serah, the grief of her mother and sister dying, and that filled her, her scream pure energy, sand showing the shockwave as the force crashed over it. Ja'on had gotten most of the way out of the path but still was bowled over, flat on his back, the pureblood getting the full brunt of that assault, was stunned, knocked senseless. Pimm saw Serah, then, using her left arm grab and smash the Sith into the rocks, shattering them, then brought the whole formation down over the red-skinned woman. Pimm saw Ja'on stand, turning her attention to him, her face angry, angry at him, angry that he brought that hateful woman, angry at him for Serah's pain. He stood there, silent, her breathing hard, the effort draining her. "I'm sorry, Pimm, that Serah was hurt." She swallowed, wanting to stay mad, but knew it was the truth, and nodded, before she brought her saber back, knowing Serah was safe, letting her anger go, "You're not reaching Jean."

He nodded, softly, knowing even injured, with Serah and Pimm together he would be outmatched in simple combat, with his lightsaber still deactivated. "I have to, Pimm," before his right hand came up, and she smelled the ozone before she saw the light, his own arc of electricity melting the sand below it to glass. Her lightsaber came up, catching and deflecting the energy, before she saw the blur, seeing what he was doing before he even took the first step. Her lightsaber was thrown down, her body crumpling as he was charging, the half dozen steps covered in a second, his fist ready to plow into her stomach, her arms covering her abdomen, curled on the hot sand, "NO!" she cried out, his body too close, standing over her. "Pimm, stand up," she felt his anger growing now, after everything the threat of being punched making her cower, but he didn't know. She shook her head, tears in her eyes, "I...I can't!" Shivering, knowing if he grew mad, she would suffer, but she couldn't. She couldn't let him be the reason.

His voice carried the edge, "Pimm, I said sta..." but that trailed off, his eyes on her now, seeing her protect herself, how she protected herself, hearing her words. She felt him drop to his knees, hands coming to her, but she pulled away, "Don't! Please don't!" she cried, but his voice was calm, "Pimm, I'm not going to hurt you," the same voice from Nar Shaddaa, from Taris, from Balmorra. The voice that told her she was safe. She dared to look up, his mask still on, but she could feel his mind, see the crack in that wall, see the gears working, the fear of hope, the dread of not understanding. She let him, his hands gentle, pulling her up, the two kneeling in the sand, his gaze to her stomach, then to her face, his voice thick, heavy, "Pimm? Are...I mean....." His right hand came close, terrified of being right, horrified of being wrong. She only nodded, tears in her eyes, his voice a strangled croak. "Ja'on, leave them, please. Come with me!" She took his hand, placing the palm on her stomach, feeling him shudder as he felt it, tiny but there, the spark. "Come with us!" And she felt him all but fly, knowing what she was asking.

Then, he stiffened, and she saw it inside him. That void, that grip, that abyss opening farther than even when Mira had died, and slowly, he started to pull his hand away, "I...can't, Pimm." She took both hands, grabbing his wrist, pulling it back, "You can! You can leave them! Come with me! I'll leave the Order! We...We can!" Tears streaming down her face, she knew his own mirrored hers, as he shook his head, his hand pulled from her grip, voice thick, "I can't Pimm!" He all but shouted, but there was no anger, just grief. "You don't get it! I CAN'T! You. You have to defeat me. Here and now." She shook her head, sobbing, "Please...please Ja'on!" He stood, stepping back, saber in hand, "YOU HAVE TO! YOU HAVE TO," before he was interrupted by a loud, resounding crack, a boulder the size of his torso smashed into his head, knocking him to the ground and unconscious, Serah standing behind him, panting, right arm gone, left taking the saber from her belt, igniting it, "There. Defeated." Serah was ready to strike the Sith Lord down, when Pimm cried out, "MASTER!" This broke through to the human woman, who looked at the Twi'lek, "Jedi don't kill the defenseless!" A moment of shame filled Serah's face, who nodded, turning off her weapon, "I'm sorry, Pimm. You are right. The pureblood, and the pain...I lost myself. Thank you."

Pimm nodded, standing, the two heading back to town, quickly, met at the arch by Jean, and Darreck. "That kriffing son of a schutta, pardon my language ladies, took out all four of my brothers, but I did manage to bury him. Doubt he's dead, but we can get out now." Jean looked back to the desert, "Will we be safe?" Pimm nodded, "Yes." Jean and Serah both looked at her, but the four made their way through the streets to the spaceport, and in moments, were aboard the ship, and fifteen minutes later were in space, then lightspeed.


	22. Punishment...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one side of an clash to win, there must be one that fails, and that always has consequences.

Ja'on woke with a start, his head swimming still, the sand hot under his body, the armor uncomfortably warm. Slowly, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, and nearly threw up from the effort. "Concussion," he muttered to himself, before bringing his hand to his head, the mask's framework cracked, and he felt the blood seeping through it, locking it in place for the moment. He closed his eyes, focusing, and the swimming sensation cleared up, his vision clearing. He stood, looking around the battle site, trying to figure out what happened.

The last he remembered, Serah was hurt, Pimm screaming and that bowling him over. He looked in the sand at the shockwave, seeing the collapsed rock pile, realizing Zavashra was still under it, and alive. Looking back at the sand, he felt he was forgetting something, because that scream didn't hurt him. He flicked his left hand, the broken phrick blade sliding out, "That's right, she broke it, turned off my saber, and it shattered." He knelt, seeing the glass in the sand, head throbbing as he tried to remember, then felt his energy in that trail, "My lightning. Then I was going to punch her, incapacitate, and chase down Jean, when...when..." His eyes screwed up in pain, his head shrieking at him as he tried to remember, a thought buried there. He knew that he knew what happened, but the memory was locked away.

A slow, deep breath, delving inward, trying to recall what he couldn't. It was right there, locked away, repressed, his own mind's ability to shield from other's mental probes now trying to lock him out directly. He stopped the attempt, then looked at where he had been lying, saw the boulder that had smashed into him. A dent from his mask, a large crack, it had hit him fast. One blow had knocked him out. He rested his hand on it, sensing, and felt not Pimm's residual energy, but Serah's. "She was hurt, but not killed. Came up behind me. How did I not feel her, WHAT happened?!" He shook his head, turning towards the city, eyes drawn to the horizon, the silhouette of a familiar ship in the sky, S-foils extending of a BT-7 Thunderclap, before it flew off. "She...escaped."

He knew Zavashra was still alive, and wasn't sure about Mark. He could sense a fourth presence, seeing the trails in the sand. "Darreck," he muttered, knowing who had arrived, who the ship belonged to. He moved towards the rockpile, feeling Zavashra inside. She had been injured, but nothing permanent. The rubble pinned her, but she was fine, still unconscious. He turned to town, closing his eyes, reaching out and feeling. There was Mark, buried in another pile of rubble. He, unlike the Sith, was hurt.

He went into the archway, watching the fight play itself backwards between Zavashra and Serah, the older woman's skill was impressive. Then, he was in the alleys, seeing the mortars and laser blasts, and came to the half-collapsed dwelling. Cipher was alive, but pinned, multiple broken bones, and running out of air slowly. After the concussion, and the fight itself he had with Pimm, his body was painfully tired, but he still moved the rocks from his friend. Moving to the man, he gently pulled off the pseudo-cybernetics. Not real implants, Cipher-3 had micro implants installed, allowing for modular hardware to be worn and interface, but left him all but fully human, only the electrodes keeping him from that status.

Slowly, the Sith healed his friend's brain, then skull, ribs, arms and legs, then brought him to consciousness. As Mark's eyes flew open, he reached for one of his blades, the movement practiced, experienced, and lethally fast. However, Ja'on grabbed his friend's wrist before it could hit him, the two looking at each other, Mark relaxing. "M'Lord! You're here, did you get her?" Ja'on shook his head, and Mark's face fell, "Oh my. But, you're alive at least. Did they escape?" Ja'on nodded to that, head throbbing again at having to think, "M'Lord. Why didn't they kill you?" The Sith helped the man sit up fully, then collected his armaments, "Not really something I can comment on, Mark."

Cipher 3, Agent of Imperial Intelligence, regarded the Sith Lord for a long, quiet moment. "It involves Darreck." Ja'on didn't pause at all as he collected the last blades, and found the man's rifle, coming back to him. "Darreck and those Jedi. It all ties together, M'Lord." As Mark stared at the impassive mask, Ja'on could feel his mind working, before the other man stood. "Simplest answer is, of course, the Jedi feel a sense of virtuous superiority by sparing those they feel are defenseless. I see the dent and crack in your mask, the blood dried on it. They overpowered you, and escaped." To this, Ja'on offered a half nod, "You're good now, Mark. Head back home."

As he turned to head back to the pureblood, Mark offered, "I know about P'fero, M'Lord." This made the Sith pause, chin dipping, and Mark swallowed, "I know P'fero's markings, coloration, and more match that Jedi. I know you bought, and soon as her contract was up, released her." Ja'on anger began to boil, but let his friend finish before acting, "I know this, Ja'on. No one else does. Records in Imperial databases are gone, as well as all the extra details in Hutt databases. You have a reason, and I'm not one to suppose what those reasons are." Ja'on began to relax, turning to look back, but still on edge, "What do you plan to do with this, Cipher?"

Mark shook his head, "I...I don't know. Did you let her overpower you? Did you let her win?" At this, the fear that the Sith had betrayed the Empire, the order he had spent over two decades sworn to, almost a decade for Mark as well, pushed this thought, this fear, in the man. "Mark, if I could take off my mask, I would. No. I am not betraying the Empire, nor did I let her win. I have a couple blank spots at the very end, but I know that I was about to overpower the Twi'lek, and the human attacked me from behind. It was not willingly that I was knocked unconscious." Mark smiled, and nodded, "Then that is what my report will reflect. I'm sorry for questioning you, Ja'on. Truly." Hesitant at first, Mark approached the black clad man, who stood steadfast, "Ja'on, if I'm not too bold, I'm glad."

Ja'on tilted his head, "Oh? That I'm still loyal?" A hint of amusement was in his voice, body relaxing fully, as Mark shook his head. "No, Ja'on. That you.....that you didn't join Mira and Dust." At the mention of his dead wife and son, Ja'on froze, body seizing, ready to vomit again, falling to his knees and hands. Mark came over, concern on his face and body. "Dust, my son.....but not my only....." The memories of the fight, the last few moments of it, came crashing back, his brain screaming in agony as the neurons finished connecting the memory. "M'Lord! Are you alright?!" Ja'on nodded, slowly standing, his lips pulled into a bittersweet smile under the mask, tears falling from his eyes, but his voice was perfectly controlled, "Yes. I was concussed during my fight, and while I healed the wound, it took time for all the symptoms to pass. I'm fine now." He clapped Mark on the shoulder, the two men parting.

Soon, Zavashra was extracted from the pile of rubble, and her mostly superficial wounds healed. Then, back on the Jade Eagle, course plotted for Korriban, and light warped and tunneled around them as they flew home. Zavashra was silent, knowing her eagerness to hurt the Jedi instead of killing had cost her. The Twi'lek had stunned her, the human had buried her. The two must have overpowered Darth Junath. She could sense nothing from him, his mind an unassailable wall to her, but knew that he would kill her if she spoke. Soon, the two were walking the red sands, then the Academy, and finally before the Dark Council.

"You....failed?" Darth Raskas spoke, her eyes wide, voice shocked. Darth Junath stood silent, but nodded. Darth Mortis spoke next, "YOU are the right hand of this Council, Darth Junath! You are, short of the Hands, Voice, or Wrath of the Emperor Himself, our best! The sharpest tool, keenest blade! YOU are the one we send to handle matters too sensitive for any one sphere of influence to deal with! HOW could you fail?" Zavashra spoke, now, her voice timid before her Master's wrath, "Master, the traitor had help. Five soldiers, or mercenaries," but she fell silent as twelve pairs of eyes fell on her, Darth Mortis's voice echoing in the chamber, "I AM NOT SPEAKING TO YOU!"

Once all attention was on Darth Junath again, he finally spoke, "Zavashra is correct. Two Jedi, Master Serah Ferrowlah, and her Padawan, a Shadow who carries a lightsaber normally reserved for Masters, aided the traitor, as well as a half squad of mercenaries." There was a quiet muttering through the Council members at the name, Darth Angral speaking next, "We are familiar with the Master, but not her padawan. What makes you think the Shadow was hers?" To this, Darth Junath turned to Zavashra, "Once Darth Mortis's apprentice injured the Master, a spike of emotion welled in the other. One only formed through familial bonds, or the Jedi's hypocritical non-attaching-attachment. The younger's scream stunned Zavashra, from almost two hundred meters."

Darth Thanaton spoke next, "But you are one of our most powerful, Darth Junath. Why could you not dispatch the Padawan in the interim?" Ja'on turned his attention to the Councilman, knowing his adherence to tradition made him many allies and enemies. "Because, M'Lord, she was quite skilled in lightsaber combat. She was able to bend light and the Force around to shield her from all senses. She was capable." Darth Thanaton spoke again, "But that does not explain why she did not DIE quickly! I have seen you fight, I have felt your power when you allow your emotions to run high. Even a Master should not have stood against you. WHY."

Ja'on now lowered his head and gaze, "I don't know, M'Lord." Darth Raskas had remained mostly silent, but she stood now, stepping down to Ja'on. "Then I will find out, Darth Junath." Darth Mortis and Darth Thanaton followed, watching. Raskas pointed on the ground, "Kneel." Ja'on did not nod, but did as she demanded, and her hand came to remove his mask, but realized it was too destroyed to removed. As her eyebrows arched, he spoke, "Master Ferrowlah." Raskas nodded, then rested her hand on his head, and closed her eyes, falling into his mind.

Unlike the first time she delved, she did not see a mass of memories, or a great yawning abyss. Instead, she touched on a field, and saw the clouds, the horizon, saw the power and passion and grief that all carried. "The fight," she muttered, and the scene shifted to the sands of Tatooine. She saw the fight playing out, amazed at the skill, and saw Darth Junath not pulling on his grief or anger. He was holding back, and a shift in the memories gave his thoughts, emotions. The lust for her curves, the want to hear her scream his name, the desire to see...her....fall. Raskas's lips pulled into a smile as she saw the Darth want to corrupt the Jedi, to destroy her in spirit, not body.

Ready to pull out, she looked around, saw the images of Serah and Zavashra fighting, then, on the horizon, she saw a shimmer. This, more than anything, drew her attention. She tried to focus on it, but couldn't. A wave of her hand dismissed the memory, but the shimmer did not fade. She tried to move towards it, but it never came closer. The smile faded, and she focused as hard as she could, and felt the wash of white noise, saw the pazaak cards, the numbers and algorithms, the navigation charts, the lightspeed calculations. She knew she would never reach, or breach that wall, and knew the truth would lay behind it, the false memories of his desires now obvious to her.

Her eyes opened, a wicked grin on her face, before a titter, then a high, sadistic and cruel laugh escaped her throat. "Oh, this is rich!" Ja'on readied himself, ready to take saber in hand and be cut down, before she turned to the others. "Our hand, has for the first time in his career, had a selfish desire! Every other moment, every other reward he has asked for, every favor he has begged for or called upon, has always been for the Empire!" Darth Mortis tilted his head, as she continued, "He didn't destroy her quickly, because he wants to CORRUPT her. In every sense. Destroy her mind, her values, make her addicted to him and the Dark Side. He wants her to FALL." This drew a small smile on Mortis's lips, who looked at Ja'on.

"Is this true, Darth Junath? You didn't destroy her, because you want to corrupt her? What makes you think you can?" Darth Junath looked up, catching the ever so slight sidelong glance from Raskas, "If you felt the anger and hate for your apprentice from her, you would know she teeters on the edge as it is, M'Lord." Darth Mortis laughed, deep and heavy, nodding, "Oh, this is delicious! I think, then, you can be forgiven for failing."

Ja'on nodded, "Thank you, M'Lord. As always, I amARR!" His voice pulled into a pained cry, but that was quickly stifled, Darth Raskas and Darth Mortis both turning on Darth Thanaton, who had started electrocuting Ja'on. A snap and a hiss from a lightsaber, Darth Mortis's blade under Thanaton's throat, Darth Raskas, "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!" The old Sith looked at the two, cutting off the attack, "He is a failure, has let his own desires fail us. He deserves death!" Ja'on let his own anger grow at that statement, his aura becoming a palpable thing, but held his silence, before Darth Mortis spoke, a chilling edge in his words, "That is outside your sphere, Darth Thanaton. His action or inaction falls to ME to decide guilt on, not you." The lightsaber faded from view, as the bearded human turned to Ja'on, "But he is right. You must be punished."

His lightsaber put away, he started his own lightning, the bolts arcing over Ja'on's body and head, drawing to the metal pieces of his armor over any other spots, and to his credit, Ja'on did not cry out. But as the seconds passed to moments, then approached a minute, then passed, he was driven to his knees. The exposed metal of his broken mask began to shimmer, then glow, and only when the sound and smell of flesh being cooked was detected, did Darth Junath's anger spike, "ENOUGH!" The lightning washed over his body now, not clinging to him, before Thanaton waved, and the Hand was smashed into a pillar. "Not even Sith enough to take a punishment."

Darth Mortis, however, had stopped his punishment at the outburst, looking to Darth Raskas, whose face had turned horribly ugly. "ONCE AGAIN YOU OVERSTEP YOURSELF!" Her voice, normally breathy, or sharp, carried the full weight of her anger. "I am the senior member of this Council, save the Emperor, Darth Thanaton! Our Hand's punishment is NOT your concern. But let us talk about how much of a Sith he is. For twenty six years, he has served the Emperor and this Council with loyalty! For twenty six years, he has executed mission after mission for us! And for twenty six years, he has never FAILED! Even his most lackluster missions were still successful. This is his FIRST! By your reasoning, Thanaton, you should have died eight years ago. And seven. And four. Every time you failed this council, and your Master!" She turned to Mortis now, "And you! You are on this Council, I may remind you, BECAUSE of our Hand."

Both men watched her, wary, knowing she was more than skilled at turning their minds against everything they cared about, but was not yet. "Both of you are so quick to judge, when for the first time our Hand has had a selfish thought. But even that, STILL works for the Empire, because he wants to corrupt a Jedi! If only YOUR personal goals were so noble." Now both men looked behind her, and she grinned at them, "And yes. Even after a minute and a half of lightning, the metal in his armor COOKING TO HIS SKIN, and your most powerful smash into a pillar, he still stands. I would like to see either of YOU try to survive this! I say he is now absolved of his failure, unless ANY of you disagree?" She looked to the two Darths on the floor, then the rest still sitting, and all could feel her own energies collecting, ready to attack those that defied her.

When none did, she nodded, "Darth Junath, thank you. You are excused." He nodded, voice a croak, "I am always at the Council's beck and call." Then, slowly, pained, blood dripping from fresh wounds, the smell of burnt flesh lingering, he slowly limped out of the Council chamber, body still sizzling as the still red-hot metal clung to his skin. Once out of the chamber, however, he slumped against a wall, coughing, his lungs filling with fluid. He could barely move, before a minute later Darth Raskas came out. She looked at him, face set in stone, before sliding under his injured side and half-carried him. "Keep your mouth shut, and follow." He did not argue, just letting her lead him away.

In the medical bay, the healer and medical droid assessed him. "This...he...." the twi'lek healer was at a loss, the droid more callous. "Multiple third degree burns, the metal in his armor and mask fused to his skin. Lungs perforated, filling with blood and fluid. Liver, kidneys, and stomach half cooked through. He should have expired." Darth Raskas just hissed, "Then FIX him!" The Twi'lek spoke, "We can't remove the mask safely, but need to, before we can get him into a kolto tank!" Ja'on just growled, left hand grabbing the front of his mask, right hand the back, and then yanked. The metal snapped, clasps shattering, and the back was thrown down. His left hand then crackled with electricity, reheating the metal, and when he felt his skin slough, he ripped the mask off fully, the left side of his face marred horribly, the pattern from the metal scarring his skin.

Soon, he was naked, and in a tank, extra medication and kolto being injected to heal his internal wounds. the Twi'lek channeling her energies into him. His last conscious thought was Raskas watching him, face still unreadable, but her eyes were on his, not on his groin.


	23. ...And Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, however rarely, the road to power can also be the path to salvation.

Ja'on sat in his chair, Pimm curled in his lap, eyes on his, adoration and love in hers. Their child, only weeks old, asleep on his chest, supported by his arm, close to her. The hustle and bustle of Nar Shaddaa continued outside, the windows shuttered and door sealed. The baby wiggled, stretching, hand coming up and grabbing his hair, cooing softly in its sleep, Pimm reaching up and stroking the infant's back. "I'm so happy," she murmured, and he nodded in return, all three closing their eyes, falling asleep.

His eyes fluttered open, body aching, feeling cold, and realized he was naked, and was on a table, the energy binders holding him in place. Darth Raskas was at a monitoring station, and looked over, her face showing frustration, but a smile pulled on her lips. "Hello there, Darth Junath. Glad you could wake up finally. How are you feeling?" He licked his lips, trying to speak, finding it difficult, but croaked out, "Sore."

Raskas nodded, turning back to the terminal, holographic images appearing before his face, "No surprise, Darth Junath. This, is your body," the display showing him, small highlights here and there showing old scars, including a bright spiderweb across his torso and face, "The bright scars are from the armor cooking you. This, however," the image turned terrifying, many internal organs showing red, shrunken, holes in his lungs and stomach, tissue distorted across his body, "was when you were placed in the tank. But, the medication, and our healer, helped quite a bit. But, that is not the most fascinating part! Our healer told us, HER energies weren't doing the majority of the healing! Yours were. Even sedated and unconscious." The displays vanished, and Raskas turned to face him.

"You. You are able to self heal using the Force while unconscious. But more than that. I have to admit, you almost fooled me." His face hardened, and she just grinned. "Yes. You had, actually, the fight very real, and your emotions and desires behind the actions, the lack of power, the reason for holding back, was very convincing. But, I saw it. The shimmer. The fortress." His jaw set, clenching, and she laughed, softly, "I wouldn't, Darth Junath. The console is biometric locked to me, no one else can release you, and we both know you can't MAKE me open the bindings." When he gave no reaction, neither relaxing or tensing further, she continued, "But even that wasn't the most amazing part. The most amazing part is, I couldn't breach that wall even when you were under. Yes. I tried."

She leaned forward in her seat, resting her chin on her hand, "So I can infer certain things. You DO want the Jedi, but you DON'T want her to fall. You want her as a spouse, a mother to further children perhaps. Or maybe it is more lewd and base. But you showing me that you want to corrupt her, with that wall, tells me it's the furthest thing from the truth. Now, I can return to the Council, and tell them. But I'd rather not. You see, I have come to realize something." With that, she fell silent, giving him the venomous smile, but something inside her eyes made him pause.

As the moment dragged on, he finally broke, "What did you realize, Darth Raskas?" His voice was tight, but tone was attempting to be civil, even light hearted as she was acting. A soft nod from her, "Thank you for asking! I have come to realize, Darth Junath. I do not owe you. Not anymore, that is. Little things since last year, moments, helping where I can knowing it is what you would do. Lying for you, telling the images you showed me, lifted the last of that grief. You said I would know, did you not?" He nodded, and she clapped her hands, "Excellent! Then, stopping Darth Mortis. You, Darth Junath, owe me now. Don't you."

His anger flared at the woman, body rippling on the table, the energy binders keeping him locked in place. But, he knew she was not lying, that the grief was gone, and that had she not intervened, he would have died in the chambers. Civility left his voice, only the edge and tightness left, but he admitted, "Yes, Darth Raskas." The smile left her face, leaving a look he had never seen on her before, as she stood and came to him. Her voice was cool, but not distant, "I understand your frustration, and anger, Darth Junath. But I warn you now, if you do not wish to suffer, do not even THINK of interrupting me here." His head tilted, just a bit, at the comment.

"I am telling you this, now, because in spite of everything, I have grown to respect you. My impulse is, now, to demand you to my chambers. My desire is to hunt this jedi down, have her brought before me, and to torture her in front of you. To break and corrupt her. To make her one of US. And to hold her, over you like bait, to offer moments of sweet respite when you behave, and to threaten to make her loathe you if you ever cross me." His body only continued to clench tighter and tighter as she spoke, breathing growing harsh, but he said nothing. She let him stew with the thought for a moment, then said, "But I don't WANT to, Darth Junath. It would make you an enemy, which I do not want. But more, I want MORE than to have you simply in my pocket. I want MORE than to have that power over you."

She fell silent, and for two breaths, she watched him, before his fists unclenched, body relaxing, voice soft, "What is it you do want, Darth Raskas?" Still a long shot from polite, it was civil, and calm, and her lips pulled into a soft smile. "I want your power, Darth Junath, pure and simple. Able to heal yourself in your sleep. Walls protecting your mind that don't fall under any situation. I could FEEL the power you contain, and how far it goes. It goes...beyond anything you could learn here." She regarded him for a long moment, "I want to know how you can do what you can, and I want you to teach me. Do this, and I will ensure you never have a hand lifted against you from the Council again. I will continue to act as though I owe you for saving me. For life."

He looked at her, a long time, "Release me, Darth Raskas." Her face fell, growing stony, hard, and his voice mellowed further, "Please. Just release me." She chewed her lip and cheeks a moment, then shook her head. "No. Not without a concrete assurance you are not going to attack me." He sighed, heavily, "Fine. Then let me answer. I would rather you mount me here. I would rather do things with you to drive you into climaxes you couldn't imagine. I would rather you collar me and make me your toy for the rest of my life than to teach you." Her face grew ugly, "You hate me that much?!" she hissed, before he shook his head, her eyes meeting his, her anger breaking almost instantly, "No. Because I would not wish what will happen if you cannot handle it on my worst enemy. I do not hate you, Darth Raskas. Just find you reprehensible."

She stepped back from the words, though his gaze kept her, and she saw the blue eyes for what they were, sincere. "I would rather be punished by any means, even die, than to damage another like what could happen, Darth Raskas. But if you insist, I will." Her eyes flickered over his body, not the first time since arriving at the medical bay, but for the first time she thought about his counter offer. Finally, she shook her head, "I want to know, Darth Junath." His eyes closed, and he sighed, heavily, but nodded, "Then release me. I will show you." He reopened his eyes, looking to her, "But I cannot do that here." She hesitated a moment, something about the compliant nature making her want to trust him, before she pressed the button, the binders vanishing with a hum.

He slid from the table, and nearly collapsed, body weak. "How..How long?" She only smirked at him, "Ten days." He shook his head, and she opened a comm, "Come in here." A cathar slave came in, eyes down, "Get food. Clean. Bring it." The slave nodded, and left, as Ja'on moved to the bed, sliding onto it, sitting cross legged, Raskas following but staying standing. "So, tell me." He shook his head, "You wouldn't believe me, Darth Raskas. I will show you, but I do need to eat first, and would like clothes." Her lips pursed, but nodded, "Fine. But I doubt you would fit into any of my robes." He laughed, "Then where is my comm and lightsaber? My gear. We'll send the slave to my ship, but it will not let her on without me telling it to."

When the cathar had returned with food, Raskas had given Ja'on his communicator, but the weapons were still locked away. He sent the slave to the Jade Eagle, calling R7 to let her on. She finally returned with a fresh robe, boots, and shorts, he had been eating the whole time. Finally, dressed and fed, feeling better, he nodded. "Sit, across from me, and listen to me, Darth Raskas. Listen and follow my instructions." The woman did, sitting on the bed as well, legs crossed, "First, clear your mind, bring yourself to peace." Seeing her face harden, his voice grew stern, "Do this or you will not be able to learn. Being at peace allows a deeper connection to another, for only through peace of yourself, can you feel the ripples of another."

These words caused her to draw back, realizing it was more than Jedi teachings, something different. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly, his voice calm and measured, guiding her through the difficult process of quieting her thoughts, until she felt....serene. Peace of self. Her own desires muted for the moment. "Now place your right hand palm up on your knee, and place your left hand palm down into mine." She did this, and was drawn, almost forcefully but it felt as natural as falling asleep, somewhere, before touching down on that field again, inside his mind. "The technique predates the Jedi and Sith. It is the unbroken circle, Darth Raskas. It allows for memories to be more than observed, but to be felt. Now, you ask for my power and knowledge." He waved, and the field broke into a mountain range, and Raskas saw a five year old boy kneeling in front of something, and she approached him. The thing the boy was in front of, was a cube, glowing faintly, and she felt...something from it, before her eyes went wide and turned back.

Ja'on nodded, "Yes. A holocron. This was a holocron from Memit Nadill. Jedi Master, one from prior to the Hyperspace Wars." Her eyes went wide, and turned back to the boy, her voice awed, "What did it say?" Ja'on shook his head, "I can't tell you." She turned, face ugly, "So you show me this to say you won't tell me?!" His eyes made her stop, his voice calm, "No. I CANNOT tell you, Darth Raskas. Have you ever learned from a personality holocron?" She swallowed and shook her head, "It is not a memory. It is not data. It isn't something I can simply recite, Darth Raskas. It is an experience. Power, techniques, and knowledge. I can recite passages that Master Nadill wrote, but not from THAT. I can discuss philosophy, but not from THAT. I just KNOW what Master Nadill knew because of it."

She slowly approached him, "So, what is this then, Darth Junath? You said you would not wish the outcome of this on your worst enemy, but you now say you CAN'T tell me." Her voice was hard, but her curiosity was evident. He smiled, "First, let me ask. Would you sit at the feet of Marka Ragnos, when he lived, and let him enter your mind to teach you? Let him full access to your memories and thoughts?" She shook her head, "That is what learning from a Holocron is." She swallowed, then looked back, "But you were a child, Darth Junath. You absorbed Nadill's knowledge without incident." She turned back and his face had pulled into a grin, "Who said Nadill was the only one I found?" Her eyes widened slowly, "How many?"

He waved his hand, and the mountain turned into a collage of images, Ja'on as he grew and grew, different locations. Deserts, forests, tombs. "All said and done, I have sat at the feet of sixty-three different Jedi, Sith, and others. Non-Jedi, Exiles, and orders older than even them." Raskas's eyes were wide, and he could feel her fear, knowing that he had absorbed all these, and was still whole. "Amazing...but even still. How can this lead to a fate for me you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy?" He walked up behind her, voice soft, "The technique is called the Unbroken Circle, Darth Raskas. If I take your right hand, you will subsume into my memories. YOU will absorb all I absorbed from them. All sixty three masters and lords. In seconds." Her breath hitched at the thought, "If you manage to control the knowledge, power, and personalities, you will have techniques that Time has buried. You will have power from those who MADE our orders. You will know things that are best left lost. But, if you fail...."

He trailed off, and the two were in a hospital, seeing those who had found Holocrons and failed to control the personality contained within, some stark raving mad, others comatose, and more still dying from the energies their body were unable to handle. "These will be you, sixty-three times over. So, Darth Raskas, I beg you, don't ask me to. I will, but if you can't handle it, you have no grasp on the torture you will experience." She turned to him, looking at the man before her, older than her, knowing things so ancient that many would kill just for a chance to talk to him, capable because of his past of healing and shielding when no one should. She swallowed, and looked back, seeing again the versions of himself, seeing that potential....potential she could have.

"I....." she started, wanting so badly to say yes, but fear stopping her. The last time she ignored that fear, she nearly died from a single emotion. "What all could happen if I can't handle it?" He shook his head, "You will be possessed at best, driven mad most likely, or even have your brain melt down. Literally. This much power, and energy, can actually damage the tissue and neurons. It will be painful, and it will kill you." She nodded, swallowing, "I. I want this, Darth Junath. Just show me one, help me absorb and control it, then the next and next." She turned to him, proud of her solution, but her face fell at his, "That, sadly, is not how this technique works, Darth Raskas. Once started, you cannot stop it, nor can I. The Force itself will keep us from separating. And the Unbroken Circle will force all the holocrons, ALL the experiences."

She looked down, seeing all the power, all the potential she could have, to know things lost, to do things impossible. But if she could not handle the stress, she would be lost. Looking back, seeing him at five, and seven, learning what they had to offer, pride began to swell in her. Finally, she nodded, "Show me. Show me your knowledge, Darth Junath." In his mind, she felt his hand on her shoulder, voice urging her, "Please, reconsider. I fear for what may happen to you." She shook her head, not looking back, knowing his concern would stop her, "No. Show me." Then, their bodies moved, his left hand over hers, then connected.

He watched as her mind was split sixty-three ways, absorbed into his memories, into his past selves, the holocrons coming to life. He felt her start to absorb, then writhe. The knowledge, sixty three Jedi, Sith, Je'dai, and more screaming at her, the power, the techniques, all coming at her too fast. Too much. She tried, then started screaming, voice rising in pitch. He tried to pull away, in vain, trying to break the circle, to force her out, but was incapable. It was over in less than a minute, their minds thrown to reality, her eyes wide, screaming out loud, as he lunged, grabbing the sides of her head, "GET THEM OUT! OUTOUTOUTOUT! No, you will listen! NO!" Then, he focused, and she fell silent, tears streaming down her face, body trembling, his body clenched hard as he fought to help her.

"They...too many! So many! They all, screaming, crying, calling to me!" Her jaw quivered, sobbing softly, "I can't stop them, Ja'on. Why are they quiet right now?" He offered a consoling smile, "My shielding. I'm projecting it into you. Keeping them at bay, but soon as I stop, if we separate more than a few meters, it will fade." Her eyes closed, she just sobbed, "I can feel them, still, calling, demanding control, for me to submit! It...." he finished for her, "It's driving you mad." She could only nod, "Why didn't I listen?" Neither answered, though both knew the reason.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, and she finally spoke, "I'm going to die, I can feel it. It's too much. They'll fight, I'll go mad, my mind lost, who I am will be gone, then they will fight until my brain melts." Her hands came to his, eyes opening and looking to his, "Please. Help me?" He shook his head, "I can't. I can't make them leave, I can't shield you, and you won't be able to shield yourself, they've taken root." She looked down, "I don't want to die, Ja'on." She blinked, then looked back up to him, eyes wide, "I know you! I know the truth. I know...she...." she blinked a few times, "You let her go. You wanted to follow, but came back!" He only nodded in response.

At his nod, Raskas's face fell. "You knew what would happen. You are right." Her eyes fell to the ground now, "And you will kill me for knowing. Please. Please, I." He shook his head, "No, Darth Raskas," and she looked back up, "Maggie. It's Maggie, Ja'on." He offered her a soft smile. "Ok Maggie. I'm not planning on killing you for knowing this. Because all I have to do is leave. I want to help you, because what will happen...I should not have shown you." The two were quiet, before he spoke, "There is a possible way. But it may be more merciful to end your life."

Her eyes went wide, looking up at him, "What is it?" She was desperate, knowing if he left, if he just stopped trying, those voices would drive her insane, and worse, erase who she was. His voice was somber, "There is a technique. It is, in essence, a lobotomy of sorts, using the Force. The most pronounced part is, it removes a person's connection to the Force, permanently. It literally burns out your mind's ability. But it is not clean, it is painful. The best case scenario is you just lose your connection to the Force. The Jedi who devised it, found that most of the time, the victim would lose years of memories." She swallowed, nodding that she understood. "The important part is, it will burn out all forms of connection, so it will destroy the possessing personalities. But you may lose years of memory, decades. You could regress to childhood. The worst reactions, was the victims became vegetative. No brain function at all save basic instinctive motor function."

Maggie swallowed, hard, thinking, "It's a risk, but if I do nothing, I will die. Ja'on, please...please help me. I put myself here, in this situation. I will take what it leaves me. Please." She sobbed again, "I don't want this." He gave her a comforting smile, "Well, I can't just perform it. We need others to know you were harmed. Fortunately, there is a holocron, close." Five minutes later, they were in a speeder, flying towards the ancient tombs, Ja'on having helped her compose herself, and donned his cowl to hide his face. Only one person questioned them in the garage, and she had made a show of wanting him to take her someplace special. Soon, they entered one of the smallest, simplest tombs she had ever seen, the Sith who was buried didn't even have his name on a wall. There was one cobblestone loose, and under it, was a holocron recorded by Syn Sorazan.

"You truly sat at the feet of our founding members," she whispered. They stayed there for a while, then he collected the holocron, and they went back. She was quiet, and as they approached, she asked softly, "What now?" His voice was firm, "I will let only Syn into your mind. You will be forced to deal with him, and then I will inform your apprentice Aruk of your fate, and that I will deal with you personally. He will ascend to the Council, Maggie, and I will perform the technique." She swallowed and nodded, fearing the pending madness. Everything played out as Ja'on had said, her raving showing her quite mad, and Ja'on turned the holocron over to Aruk, who treated it with reverence. Then, Ja'on and Maggie were aboard the Eagle.

"It will hurt, Maggie. I am literally burning your connection to the Force out of your head." She nodded, finally coming to grips with the risk she was about to take, "Ja'on....if....if this works. What will I do? Aruk is ascending to the Council, and I'm going to be dead by records. If I remember, what will I do?" He looked at her, his voice soft, "What any of us do, Maggie. Live as you can." She nodded, then the two began, his hands on her head. At first, she just winced, looking uncomfortable, but that grew as the power intensified, before she was screaming in pain, her hands on his trying to pry him off, but she could do nothing until he finished, her eyes rolling up into her head, and she collapsed, but he did catch her.

Five minutes later, her eyes fluttered open, fear in her face, scrambling away from him, "Who are you? What am I doing here?! WHERE am I?" He was quiet as she tried to get away from him, backing herself into a corner. He pulled his cowl back, kneeling a few feet away from her, "Maggie," she froze at her name, lips quivering, "Maggie, my name is Ja'on. I...I need to know. How old are you?" She shook her head, "No...no you don't need that. Where are my parents?" He sighed, softly, "I do need to know, Maggie, since you've had a painful ordeal. I need to know what you remember. How old are you?" She swallowed, his calm voice drawing her to him, a bit, "I'm eighteen, Ja'on. How do you know me?"

He froze, for an instant, "Ok, Maggie. You were training to be Sith, correct?" She nodded, "That was almost twenty years ago, Maggie. You made it, you became Darth Raskas. Lord of Sith Philosophy of the Dark Council." Her eyes wide, lips pulling into a smile, "However, you have been exposed to multiple Holocrons of Sith Lords and Jedi Masters. You were going to go insane, and die. I knew a technique to help you, but it cut your connection to the Force, and erased the past twenty years." She shook her head, tears in her eyes, "So what now? Am I going to die?" He smiled softly at her, and shook his head, "No. You'll be fine. You actually can live a normal life."

This made her face brighten, her smile warm and friendly, "Then, can I go home to my parents?" He broke her gaze, "They, were divorced. I don't know why. Your father is high ranking in the Imperial corporate industry. Your mother...has defected to the Republic." Maggie's face dropped, and she curled into a ball, "Father would have me executed for failing. Can...can I see Mother?" He nodded to her, and brought her to the bridge. He brought up the Holonet, finding her mother, "She's on Nar Shaddaa, right now, actually." The course was set, and soon they were landing.

While Ja'on tracked down her mother, Maggie had found she liked her body's development, but did not like how she dressed, so she bought more modest clothing. Soon, they were at the casino, and Ja'on found her mother and new husband. He brought them to the table, mother's face shocked, Maggie's ecstatic. "Mama," she whispered. It took some time to explain how Maggie had lost twenty years, and was considered dead to the Empire. "I swear, this is no trap. She...needs her mother." Maggie had been quiet for this, tears in her eyes as her mother denied her repeatedly, Ja'on's voice growing hard. "I am speaking as a father whose son was murdered, taken too young. I would give anything to have him in my arms again. And you are throwing away the chance to re-meet, and help, your daughter."

Finally, the two nodded, Maggie leaving with them, before turning back, running and giving Ja'on a hug. Her eyes full, "I have one thing, one thought I can't shake, and I realize it's for you. Don't trust them, Ja'on. Don't trust them, because they want you gone. I don't know who, but." He smiled and nodded, and watched the woman-now-young adult leave with her mother, a chance for a life she could never have prior. Soon, he was back aboard the Eagle, R7 whistling. He went to the terminal, turning it on, Darth Thanaton appearing, "Darth Junath. If you are done with the whores of Nar Shaddaa, you are needed on Hoth. Four days ago, we were starting to be harassed by pirates. Go fix this." Once cut, Ja'on left his ship for some final errands, and twenty minutes later the Eagle streaked through the sky, and jumped to lightspeed.


	24. Hoth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jedi Knight Pimm is called upon for a hopefully peaceful resolution.

While aboard the Thunderclap, Darreck piloting it, staying in the bridge, Jean asleep in a transport seat, Pimm and Serah were talking, quietly. "What did I come on you two talking about, Pimm. I could feel his pain, his desire to do what you asked, but was demanding you defeat him." Pimm looked in Serah's eyes, "I tried to turn him, Master. Away from the Sith, the Empire. I tried to have him come with us. He wanted to, but...you saw. He couldn't." Her own eyes fell to the floor now, "I don't understand it. But he couldn't." Serah watched Pimm quietly, unsure of what else was going on in her head, "Pimm, even if you could, you are Jedi. You can't have a relationship with him. Even if he defected." Pimm swallowed and nodded, offering a soft smile, "I know. But...he knows the Sith are wrong, Serah. Even if he and I can't, I'd rather him in the Republic. He deserves to have some peace in his life."

This admission of a possible desire, a thought, drew Serah's thin smile, but that softened at the desire for Ja'on to have peace. Pimm knew Serah still had thoughts, ideas, and she would be shocked if she knew the truth, but wasn't prying. The two had developed a relationship of trust over the years, one that Pimm relied on heavily, the gnawing fear that she would be cast out always there. Serah giving her the trust and space, while always being there, kept her stable. Now, though, "Serah....I want him. I want him in my life. Badly. But, even if he leaves the empire, I'm not leaving the Order. Anything that happens, the consequences, even if he ends up hating me, I'm willing to take. But I have no desire or plan to leave you." The two hugged, and soon were landing on Coruscant.

Four days later, Jean debriefed, her new life starting, Pimm and Serah were contacted by Master Shan. "Please, if you two would go to the Senate? The General, who was the Lieutenant General at Ackerack's court-martial, has requested your presence." An hour later, the General met with the two Jedi. "Thank you both for coming, Master Jedi. We have a situation on Hoth. There are two pirate factions stationed there, giving our troops grief. One are the White Maw, the other is lesser known, but they also are fighting the Maw. I am asking you to try and convince the second faction to, if nothing else, lay off our troops and resources."

It took another hour to get the information from the General, locations, and contacts. In essence, there was a faction of pirates, possibly former White Maw, possibly others, who were stuck on Hoth. They had been at ends with the greater faction, and had taken to harassing and raiding Republic outposts and soldiers for equipment. A half hour after that, the two Jedi were on a shuttle to the frozen planet, Pimm watching her Master. "Serah," she calmly started, though her voice betrayed the concern, "I...How....." she shook her head, "How are you, with...you know." Serah looked at her padawan, "How am I handling losing my arm?" Pimm couldn't meet her eyes, but nodded. Serah sighed, heavily, "Pimm, I understand you want to turn him, and I believe that whatever is keeping him with the Empire is breaking down. But I have known, for a long time, and that thought was given concrete solidity on Alderaan, that he IS our enemy." Pimm looked up, face stricken.

Serah just smiled, "For now. And not all the time. On Tatooine, he was. Because our missions were incompatible. Could you just turn Jean over to him?" Pimm shook her head, "And he couldn't just walk away. So, you fought him. He isn't the one who took my arm. Had I fought him, he would have knocked me out. I do not blame HIM for this." She waved to the stump, the sleeve of her robe pinned up to conceal the wound, "That falls to the pureblood. I wish we had managed to get off planet before he caught up, but that was not the case. I'm injured, but still more than capable." Pimm smiled, tightly, looking down, and Serah leaned forward, "Pimm, thank you. I was ready to kill him, but you stopped me. For the right reason."

This drew another nod from the Twi'lek, and they finished the rest of the trip in silence. Once on the ice planet, both took their heavier, fur-lined robes and donned them, Pimm taking the extra time to insulate her lek'ku. Soon, they were in a speeder, soaring over the ice and snow, both wearing goggles that reduced the glare, approaching the last known location of the pirates they were seeking. They were told not to worry about the Maw, since that group had been out for itself against all others since its inception. They came up on a raided outpost, small, just had enough troops to secure a refueling spot for the few colonists and traders that came to the planet. The two got out, inspecting and going over the scene.

"The reports said the pirates took everything, blasters, supplies, fuel. But none of the reports were filed by those who were here," Pimm said, sadly. Serah was low in the middle of the supply cache that had been blown open, "There's no death, Pimm. The troops did not die here, meaning they were taken." The two looked at each other, their mission now harder and more urgent if hostages were part of the equation. Serah looked to the edges as Pimm poked around the remainder of the outpost. When the two came back together, Pimm said softly, "Across the entire area, no death, but much pain. Wounding and stunners, but no killing shots." Serah nodded, "I have the trail, a little...cold....but not completely gone." Pimm's eyes narrowed at Serah's grin at her pun, and the two were soon back on the speeder.

It took a full day, but they finally came across a cave complex, parking the speeder. Pimm looked over the entrance, Serah beside her. "Trapped," Serah whispered, Pimm nodding and responding, "Turrets beyond that. And proximity sensors, they already know." The two looked at each other, and sighed together, knowing how much harder it just got. Pimm shook her head, Serah looking at the entrance. Pimm softly, jokingly, asked, "Shall we just call in then?" Serah froze, knowing her padawan wasn't serious, but thoughts of Alderaan popped in her head, and she moved to the entrance, and did just that.

"Oy! Pirates! We know you know we're here! I am Jedi Master Serah Ferrowlah! I'm NOT here to fight, just talk, please! Someone come talk to us?" She looked back at Pimm, shrugging softly, "It worked for him on Alderaan. Only he got shot in the leg for it, but he knew that was going to happen. It helped them trust him." Pimm on the other hand was trying very hard not to laugh at the situation, but saw the benefit of Serah's actions. A moment later, one pirate came to the entrance, and the two looked at him, short, making even Pimm look tall, the flechette cannon in his hands lethal looking.

"What do you want to talk about then, Jedi Master and not Jedi Master?" Pimm could feel his fear, anxiety, but was confused by the calling out, by the desire to talk. "You want supplies back? You want men back? We need them." Pimm came up closer, but her hands were up, "You need our men? Why?" Serah smiled, raising her own hand, "We're not wanting a conflict, our only desire is to stop the hostilities between you and the Republic." The little man regarded both women, "White Maw shot us down. We want off world. Head home. Refugees, but not willing to take poodoo from anyone." Pimm and Serah looked at each other, then Pimm looked over her shoulder, eyes wide. "Please, can we come in? We're not going to cause you a problem, but there is a storm coming. And we won't make it anywhere safe before it's here." She looked back, "Please?"

The little man's lip curled in a snarl-like expression, but he nodded, turning and heading back in, the two Jedi following. Once in a portion of the way, a ray shield came online behind them. "There. Weather can't get us. If you had come, shield up before you reach, turrets cut you down. We're safe here, but still want off word." They found the pirates, a good forty refugees, and the republic soldiers they had captured were in a large cell. While some were injured, mildly, none were in a bad condition. Serah found a bed, resting, as Pimm sat talking with the troops.

The next day, Pimm spoke with the leaders, "Listen. I know this is difficult for you, but I'm asking you, why did you choose the Republic for your targets? I get what you are going for, trying to repair your frigate, but why us? You don't seem to want to." The leaders laughed, the little man grinning, "Republic willing to not kill on sight. Especially if we not killing. Better than Empire, but would prefer to hit them." Pimm grinned at this, "If you had a Jedi? Would you go then?" The whole group looked at each other then to her, nodding. Serah came up from behind, "I'll stay while you all are out, I'll help here."

Over the next three days, Pimm and the pirates raided Imperial stations, her abilities for stealth and subversion helping them extensively. However, each raid became more and more difficult, the troops better prepared, better armed. Serah helped get the frigate up and running, as well as establishing a comm center. The fourth day, however, the two Jedi felt something odd, a shift, a pulse, and after just a second, they recognized the energy, Pimm's face distraught, Serah's setting hard. "He...He can't be here. Not so soon!" Serah swallowed, eyes dropping, "Finish the last raid, Pimm. Make it fast. We NEED that fuel, or the ship won't break atmosphere." The two nodded, Pimm leaving with the pirates, Serah making a call.

While out, Pimm and the pirates hit the last depot, stealing multiple canisters of fuel, making their way back when she felt the wave of energy, looking back. Terrified of seeing black robes, she saw instead a mass of reinforcements, that calming her. "QUICKLY!" The crew loaded the last canisters, Pimm's lightsaber turning into a violet shield, defending the transport as it started up, and as it tore its way back towards the cave, she ran and leapt, clearing the forty meters easily, perching on the roof, before dropping into the cab.

Once at the cave, the transport was quickly unloaded, the refugees all loading, the Republic hostages following. Pimm turned to the leader, "What are you bringing them for?" The little man looked up at her, eyes wide, and she could feel his hurt, "You leave your own men? Cave is now compromised! Imperials coming!" Pimm nodded, "I'm sorry. I'm just concerned, this is a bad situation. I...didn't mean to accuse you." Ten minutes later, the small frigate lifted off, and flew into space, asteroids and battle debris making the trip difficult. On the bridge, Pimm was watching as the planet shrank, when movement caught her eyes. A small ship, fast, agile. But her eyes went wide as she recognized it as an Arbiter class shuttle. "Ja'on," she gasped loudly, it coming in fast, S-foils extended. "PREPARE FOR COMBAT!" the leader of the refugee pirates called over the comm.

The small shuttle came in fast, and launched a torpedo from the forward bay, the shields dying as it impacted across them. The single attack killing their shields sent the crew into disarray, Pimm recognizing this, "He has ionic torpedoes! Dreadnaught class ion cannon blasts in a torpedo head! Minimal, almost NO physical damage, just kills shields," a moment later the ship began to list, "And engines." The shuttle soared passed the bridge again, and the comms opened, their own officer patching him through, "This is Darth Junath of the Sith Empire. You have been raiding our outposts for four days, and I am stopping you. I have disabled your shields and engines. Darth Marr will be here shortly. Await his presence, and you may yet live."

The comm cut, as Serah came on the bridge, grinning at the crew, "No worries. My call went through." A moment later a small cruiser, half the size of the ship they were on, sporting Republic colors, jumped out of hyperspace, pulling alongside the frigate. It was big enough for everyone, though would be crowded. The Jade Eagle swooped in to attack, one torpedo hitting the cruiser, killing its shields, but as it flew for the engine attack, the cruiser's own ion cannons roared to life, one shot hitting the shuttle, knocking all of its systems offline, it falling to a sickening drift. Pimm shouted, "Get a tractor beam on that ship before it's destroyed!" As the refugees and troops crossed to the other ship, a beam did catch the small shuttle, holding it in place.

Finally, everyone was aboard the cruiser, its own tractor beam pulling the shuttle in slowly. Serah spoke quietly with Pimm, "If he stays loyal, Pimm, he will attack us. He can hurt them. If he is loyal, he will turn us over to Darth Marr." Pimm looked at Serah, "We don't let him out of the shuttle, we jump out, he's our prisoner, Master. We detain him, we turn him." She grinned at Serah, as a massive ship, over twice as big as the frigate they left, four times bigger than the cruiser they were on at the moment. The only saving grace was that due to the debris, the Imperial ship could only pull along side the opposite side of the now-empty frigate. Instead of Darth Marr, however, Darth Thanaton appeared on the holo, Darth Junath sharing the frequency.

"Attention Republic ship. This is Darth Thanaton. I am here at the request of our admiralty, to assist in destroying the pirates that have been harassing us." Darth Junath spoke now, "Darth Thanaton, the frigate is disabled as you see. On the other side is the republic cruiser, they disabled my ship. If you pull me aboard, I will.." but he was cut off by the other Sith's grin. "Oh, no, Darth Junath. You have failed. Twice now. You are proving quickly to being a liability." Darth Junath was silent, Pimm turning to the crew, "Get him in! NOW! He's on the other side of the frigate still! If Thanaton attacks...."

The crew sprung into action, Serah grabbing her padawan, "Pimm, we cannot risk all these people's lives for him!" The two Sith were still speaking, "Darth Thanaton, do not do this. I have been nothing but loyal. The republic cruiser is all but incapacitated. If you just," but again Thanaton shook his head, "Target all batteries on the frigate. Destroy it, and through it the cruiser." Pimm came to the holo, crying out, "No! No don't do this!" But Thanaton cut his channel, leaving only Ja'on, who turned to face Pimm fully, alarms blaring as the Imperial battleship's weapons came online, "Pimm. I...." before he could finish his words, the lasers fired, the shuttle vaporizing instantly, the frigate quickly being destroyed.

Pimm stood, staring at the dead comm, Serah screaming, "Jump us out! NOW!" before Pimm's legs finally gave, tears on her face, a pained scream escaping her throat, "NOooooooooooooooo!" She crumpled to the floor completely as the ship tore through the debris quickly, and soon as it was clear, jumped. Serah came to her padawan, Pimm sobbing, "I can't do this! I can't without him!" her hands around her stomach, and Serah finally saw what Pimm had known for a while, eyes wide.


	25. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who have experienced loss try to find some solace and closure in life.

A day later, Pimm stood in the Jedi Council chambers, head bowed, trembling slightly. Serah had no choice, she had to inform the council of her being pregnant. When called in, Pimm placed her lightsaber on the table, stepping back, and told the story, how the night before she was released after learning how much he was willing to spend, not just willing but willing to spend and never mention to anyone, and the nearly two years of interacting, she indulged in her desires. Explained how during her hunt for Jean, she had learned, and then during the duel, she had wanted to tell him but couldn't, since he had never once held anything over her. "How could I do that to him?" Only when he was ready to incapacitate her with that powerful blow did she drop, and cry out.

"I...I couldn't let him. Not after his first child, I couldn't let him be the cause of the loss of this one." She was admonished, both for the night, and then for not telling Serah and the Council soon as she knew. Satele spoke quietly, "Don't you see Pimm, this, right here, is why these relationships are banned. This kind of attachment is what leads people down...." she trailed off, looking at the young woman, sighing. Master Bela spoke, "Pimm, what do you think should happen?" At this the Twi'lek lifted her head, "I...I can't stay. I want to, desperately, but I know in my heart I cannot." She looked back down, and after a moment, Satele spoke, "Truth be told, Pimm, I was against you being trained from the beginning. Between your age, and your history, I knew how dangerous it could be." Pimm only nodded silently, jaw clenching, but her gaze was drawn up as Master Shan continued, "I am glad to see I was wrong. In every regard. You were devoted, to us, to Serah, and to the Republic. I have grown to respect and admire you. Even now, your own desires are overshadowed by that dedication."

The other Council members muttered to each other at that, Pimm's lips pulling into a soft smile, glad Satele understood, "Yes." Satele returned that smile, continuing so the rest understood as well, "Yes, your dedication to our order, you know you broke our code, our rules. As badly as you want to stay, you know you can't, because the only way you could is if we overlooked our code, overlooked our history. We would fail you and every other Jedi if we allowed you to stay. However, Pimm, you must realize this is still a grave thing." The Twi'lek nodded, "So long as I can raise my child, Master Shan, I accept what comes of me. I surrender my lightsaber to the Council, and await my judgement."

The whole council was quiet at first Satele's, then Pimm's words. They understood better, that this wasn't a calculated thing, that she wasn't expecting to be let off. She fully expected to be removed, exiled even. She wasn't going to fight, wasn't going to plead. Pimm bowed her head as the members of the council came together, talking, and she could feel their trepidation as well as their admiration. Finally, she looked up, "Pimm, you are hereby removed from the Jedi Order. You are not, however, exiled. We understand the situation, and the lack of intent. You did not mean to become pregnant, to grow so attached to him. As such, you are welcome to visit us, and Tython. In fact I encourage it." Pimm's face had pulled into a smile, fresh tears as she felt the acceptance. Serah came around, taking her lightsaber, holding it and looking at it.

Finally, she held it up to Pimm, whose eyes went wide. "Serah...I...I'm not a Jedi." The human woman smiled, "Yes, but it's not like you're going to run off and join the Empire, are you?" Pimm shook her head, Serah grinning, "Then why would we take a tool, a thing you know very intimately how to use, from you?" Pimm tenderly took the saber from Serah's hand, then stepped in and embraced her tightly, Serah's one arm coming behind her and returning the hug. "I'm going to miss you, Padawan." Pimm nodded, voice hoarse from the stress of emotions flowing through her, "And I you, Master."

An hour later, she was packed, her last few sets of robes, the few belongings she kept in her room, and his datapad. This brought a fresh sob, as the only time she had it on her to give to him, she hesitated. She had been afraid that giving him the memories of his wife and son would have made him give up on fighting the rakghoul disease, and every time since she had simply not had it on her. And now, he was gone. Everything packed, she boarded a shuttle, heading to the Republic fleet, and there she wandered the large space station, lost. While sitting in the cantina, she had a thought, a spark of hope, and started booking her shuttles.

Four days later, from the shuttle hopping and delays, she finally was back on Nar Shaddaa. She all but ran across the promenade, hoping, sure that she would be right, then the elevators and walkways, before she was at the door, thumb on the scanner, the door opening. Running into the apartment, "Ja'on?! Ja'on! Please! Be here!" At the silence, she called, "R7? I know...I know you are here! You were in both." She trembled as she was met with yet more silence. Of course she had been. Why would he stay here? She saw a month's worth of dust on the surfaces, nothing on. She walked through the small, once so cozy apartment, legs threatening to give as she remembered how content...no not content. Happy. She WAS happy here, as his.

She went into the bedroom, the bed still unmade from their last night. His wardrobe was empty, hers with her other slave outfits, and she saw the case on the floor. Opening it, she saw her binders, shock collar, and remote. Closing the case, she sat on the bed and cried, holding her stomach, "I can't do this, Ja'on! Why! WHY did you leave me?!" She curled up, body shaking as she could still smell him in the sheets and pillow, sobbing herself to sleep.

A while later, she woke up, moving through the apartment, looking in the office. The chaotic jumble of displays, interfaces, and electronics was still there, but it had been moved. She shook her head, moving towards the holoterminal, when she saw a blip on the screen, saying there was a message. At first hesitant, she opened it, and gasped. Ja'on's face, a network of horrible scars on the left side of his face, came up. She reached for him, trying to touch the image, hand flickering through it, before he spoke.

"Pimm. Pimm, if you're watching this, then..." he took a sigh, face distraught at the words, "Then I'm dead. Pimm, I am so sorry." Her despair spiked, and then an anger at him, strong, powerful, began to rise in her stomach. "I am so sorry I couldn't just leave everything to follow you on Tatooine. I truly am. Pimm, you need to understand. I wanted to. It all but killed me to say no." Her anger spiked as he paused, screaming at the recording, "THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY YES?!" His eyes cast down, almost as though they were talking, not just a recording, "I couldn't say yes. Pimm, please try to understand. I am one of the strongest Sith the Empire has! I was named the Hand of the Council because I could do what almost no others could! And, because of that position, I KNOW things that no other Sith should. Pimm, Jean was an overseer. You have to understand, she taught because she couldn't DO. She couldn't fight. She couldn't carry out missions. She was strong willed and smart enough to live, but she was barely a step above an acolyte."

His head tilted, "They sent ME, the right hand of the Council, the one who would be sent after the largest threats the Council could think of, after HER. She had nothing of value. No information, no skills, no secret knowledge. She didn't have any artifacts. She was, by the Empire's reckoning, almost a nobody. It was to me to track her down and kill her. Pimm," he paused, as her gaze had fallen, "Pimm." She looked up, almost forgetting herself he wasn't really there, "Pimm, what do you think they would have done if I left? If after twenty six years of service, if after becoming the secret keeper for all twelve members of the Dark Council, I just walked away? What would they do? ESPECIALLY if it became known I did it, for a Jedi that I loved? Who was carrying my child?" Her jaw trembled, a barrage of thoughts, before nodding. "We would never be safe. Pimm, I swear, it killed me to say no, but I would die before I let them touch you."

She laughed, a sharp, barking, manic laugh, considering the situation, and the recording gave its own chuckle. "Funny enough, right?" She nodded, awed at how real it seemed. "Pimm, I never told you. Why I was Sith. You know I was captured by the Harvesters. Held for ten years. Practiced on for that time. A Sith is the one who rescued me. She killed a handful of those," his face curled into a fresh mask of hate for the dead pirates, "kriffing hutt-spawn. She found me, saw my potential. At that point, I'd already learned from a handful of Holocrons, so I was skilled with the Force, and strong in it. I swore to her, if she rescued the other prisoners and slaves, and that I got to kill the leader, I would join her. She did as I demanded, so I did as I promised. I swore an oath to serve the Empire to my dying breath, Pimm." Fresh tears fell from her face, breath shuddering, "Even as I learned more, knew how WRONG the Sith are, I swore that Oath. But more, nothing, until you, made me WANT to leave, Pimm, but by that point, it was too late. Without a body, they wouldn't leave me be."

Pimm's eyes fell, wiping her face dry, "I understand," she whispered, and his voice was soft, tender, "I hope you understand Pimm. More, I pray, with every fiber of who I am, that you forgive me. Now, in spite of everything, Pimm, I have a favor to ask." She let out another barking laugh, "Pimm, please. If, and only if, you forgive me, there is a box on this console." She looked down, and noticed it for the first time, picking it up and opening it, gasping. Inside was what she recognized as a signet ring, an embossed S over an inlaid A. "Yes, an Alderaanian signet ring. That ring, Pimm, belongs to Count Alde. I know, it is an imposition, but I am begging you Pimm," she looked up to the image, left brow arched, "Yes, begging you. Please, go to Alderaan. Return that ring to Count Alde. It...is a long story. But it was from his eldest child, and...I think the old man deserves to have it now. It would bring him closure, Pimm. If you can't, because you are in the order, or won't, because you can't forgive me, I do understand. But, if you can, if you forgive me, it....it isn't fair of me to ask you this, but please Pimm. It would mean everything to me."

She looked at the ring. She had loathed the politics of the planet, but it was beautiful. And she had heard good things of the elder Count, and, all said and done, she now knew Ja'on's reasons, and had to forgive him. She looked up, his face in the little half-grin she'd seen a few times, "Pimm, I hope you can forgive me. I do, you know. Love you. But, Ja'on Skarg, Darth Junath, is dead." Her head pulled back, hearing his family name for the first time, and he let out a sad laugh, "Yes. Skarg. But...Dust liked it. Said it made us sound like good pirates. 'We're the Skargs! Surrender!' and the like. Pimm, take care, may the Force be with you." With that, the recording ended, and she sat there, holding herself curled into a ball on the chair. Finally she activated the terminal, setting a shuttle to take her to Alderaan. Having six hours, she went through the apartment, packing the rest of her things into her bag, including the binders.

Half a day later, she was back on the beautiful planet, met by House Organa guards. She was brought before the nobility as she had been the first time, "Jedi Pimm, what a pleasure to see you again!" She offered a small bow, "Just, Pimm, M'Lord. I just wished to pay my respects, but have business with Count Alde. I know, my last visit he was out, is he home?" This drew some looks, but Duke Charle Organa only smiled and nodded. "Of course, Pimm. Please, feel free to use our transports." She bowed and left, heading to the rest station, a taxi was waiting for her. Thirty minutes later, she took a steadying breath, and entered the great hall of House Alde.

Count Alde was sitting, not entertaining at the time, only Ceci behind him, and Pimm could feel the difference with Pratus gone. She felt the aura of the house itself, the people within, a much more relaxed atmosphere. She approached the Count, offering a bow, Ceci bright, "Lady Pimm! Welcome back!" The Count stood, and came to the Twi'lek, "So this is the Jedi who Pratus wronged so badly. Please, accept an old man's apology for my family's behavior," and Pimm could only laugh softly. "No apologies needed, Count. I actually am here, because I have something for you." She fumbled slightly as she pulled out the box, handing it to the man, who opened it, voice catching in his throat.

Pimm looked down and away, "A...friend. Had that, asked me to bring it to you." The Count nodded, "I see. Yes, this was my daughter's signet. My first born, Cecilia Alde, young Ceci's namesake. She married a non-noble, Dran Starri." Pimm swallowed, not wanting to be rude, letting him finish, but she just wanted to be gone. "They had two children, and I thought I had lost them all. Their first child died in a shuttle accident. I lost my daughter and her husband to assassins almost forty five years ago. And their second child I thought was lost thirty six years ago. But!" She looked up, feeling the man's joy soar, "He has been found and returned to us. Lady Pimm, I would like much for you to meet him." Pimm started to shake her head, when the doors behind her opened hard, a high baritone voice, with a soft lilt and warm timber echoed in the halls, "Grandfather, these grapes you are having me tend to are all but worthless. It's going to take a full season to make them...worth...using." Count Alde laughed as Pimm stood frozen, "Yes, yes. Rude as always, but then, your life hasn't been in these halls."

Hoping, praying, fearing she was going mad, Pimm stayed rooted, Count Alde finishing the introduction, "Lady Pimm, may I introduce my Grandson, Aldolphis Ja'on Starri." She turned, slowly, trembling, giving a choked cry as she saw him, the Count's voice soft, "But I have a feeling you already have met." She took one, two, three steps before running, him wearing rich but simple clothes, boots muddy, a mini vine of grapes dropped as he moved to meet her, her leaping into his arms and him just holding her. The embrace was tight, and Pimm could feel the mix of adoration and 'eww' from Ceci. Pimm pulled back, lightly slapping him, "How! What, when! HOW!" He laughed, looking to the Count, "If you will excuse us, Grandfather?" The Count nodded and waved at them to dismiss them. Ja'on shifted his hold, carrying Pimm off to a side room, eyes locked on hers.

Once in the drawing room, Ja'on set Pimm on the floor, the grin still on her face, before she slapped him again on his chest. She was certainly conflicted, seeing him, alive, whole, scars on his face still but better looking. Her voice threatened to crack, "HOW?! I saw your ship...Darth Thanaton...he..." Ja'on nodded, "He destroyed the Jade Eagle. But, fortunately for me, I wasn't on it." Her face just screwed up in confusion, and he sat in a large armchair, looking very tired, "The study, Pimm. All those electronics. I used them to rig up a remote cockpit for the Eagle. R7 cohabitating the apartment and the Eagle was the uplink. When I went to Tython, I stopped at Tatooine, and he was able to run both, in full communication with himself."

She blinked, smile broadening, "So, when I was sent to Hoth, I wasn't on the ship. I used the cockpit to send the ship. I had a warning, and a feeling, to not be there. I was right." Pimm nodded, then came close to him. He looked up at her, swallowing, before her smile finally left her face, and slapped him across his, this one not gentle or carefree, his skin reddening from the impact. "Why didn't you tell me? Why pretend you were dead? You could have TOLD me in that recording!" Her jaw was trembling, tears on her cheeks, and he nodded, "Pimm...I...." she felt his hesitation, his fears, "I was afraid." This made her freeze, "I was afraid you wouldn't forgive me. That you wouldn't go there. That someone else would break in first." He looked down, at the floor, and she saw a vulnerable man, her lips pulling into a smile, "If I put it out there, if I said 'Pimm I'm alive on Alderaan' and you never showed, I. I don't know, but it would hurt for life. By keeping the charade, it was up to you. If you never went, or if you didn't forgive me, you would at least have that."

He looked up at her, "You'd have me dead to hate. To scorn. And I could live with that. If you never went, I wouldn't be left wondering if you ever would. But if I said it, if I left that for you, it would hurt so much more. I am sorry. I am sorry I hurt you." She placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back against the chair, sliding into his lap, his arms coming around her, and she felt and heard his sob of relief. His voice much thicker, "I did try to tell you, though. Before Thanaton blew my ship." She thought about his last words on the comm, and nodded. "So," her own voice soft, "What now?"

He sighed, "I'm still recovering from the scars. Only Grandfather and Ceci know I was the ambassador. I shifted Aunt Regina's memories of that visit to make me more sinister. No one in this house knows who I used to be. House Thul and Bathera may recognize me, and that makes home dangerous. But they don't come visiting, nor am I going there. So, I'm safe, until I am healed. Then, I'm going to travel, keep my family safe." Pimm nodded, hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "But, to what end?" her voice a whisper, the shock of having him hold her still intense, unsure if she was dreaming, but willing to live in that if it felt this real. He grinned, "Ja'on Skarg is dead. I owe them nothing. I cannot join the Jedi, but it doesn't mean they don't have an ally in me."

Pimm grinned and nodded, then pushed back and looked at him. "Aldolphis? Really?" Her eyes narrowed, and he laughed. "My father was a nerf-herder. Thought it was a funny name. So I went by my middle name, which Mother gave me. I am a Starri, but when I was rescued by the Sith, I was not about to give them that, so I gave a fake name." She nodded, it all making sense, resting against him again, "I'm going to keep calling you Ja'on." He laughed, softly, "Good. I hate Aldolphis." They stayed that way a long time, before he asked, "What happened with you, Pimm?" She shrugged, "I was removed from the order, but allowed to keep my lightsaber. Like you, the Jedi have an ally in me." They settled, calm, relaxed, her voice sleepy, "What happened, Ja'on? The scars?" He shook his head, "Punishment for Jean. I'm glad to have taken them, though, since you got her safe."


	26. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final loose ends are tied up.

The two rested for over an hour, relaxing in the chair, each crying softly as the relief of things washed over them, then they nodded off, still holding each other. They were woken up as Ceci knocked softly and came in, grinning at the two, "Grandfather has asked if you need more time, or are ready to come talk about those grapes." The girl just grinned at the two as Ja'on started to stand, Pimm sliding from his lap.

The three left the room, and Ja'on went to Count Alde, Ceci hanging back to talk to Pimm, "You know, I knew he liked you when he bowed at his trial." Her voice was subdued as she spoke, Pimm sensing the regret she still carried, before she looked over, easy smile on her face. "He explained it, the hand to head was a friendship and intellectual bond, the left arm back was subservience, a show of trust to me." Ceci nodded, "Yes, but the kneel was devotion. His opponent? He only half-bowed, and that was his wife. She knew he had mistresses, but he didn't take a knee even to her." Pimm's eyes were wide as she watched the former Sith speak to his grandfather.

Ja'on stood with Count Alde, "The nutrients are too weak, the grapes sour. It'll take a season, though I'll encourage them as best I can, but we need better soil, fertilizer." The two stood talking about the plans for the vineyard for a bit, then the Count looked to his grandson, "Are you sure, Ja'on? Must you go again?" Ja'on laughed, softly, "Yes. I do have to, Grandfather. If Elana, or Jaxus, if they even catch wind of me. They know my face. I'm safe here, but the risk is too high. But, I'm not twenty anymore, and I am trained, not just learning." The Count nodded, smiling softly, "And your other choice?" Ja'on didn't hesitate, but his face was drawn into a smile, "Yes. If, that is." A couple items exchanged hands, and he went back to Pimm, who just grinned at him, the knowledge that Ceci shared making her brain a little fuzzy.

"Pimm, I have a question. You see, it's a huge imposition, but I have a small problem." Pimm rose her brows, "Oh?" He nodded, "You see, it's a pain. Dealing with these nobles. I could, well, really use some help. Every day. Wake to sleep." She blinked at him a few times, unsure where he was going, but a hitch in her breath. "I'd...love it if you would agree to help me, Pimm." She offered a small giggle, until he pulled the box from his pocket, opening it, showing the signet she had returned, and saw the same on his hand. The giggle died, smile fading, eyes going to his quickly, "If you would do me the honor, Pimm, of being my wife?" She could only blink, an image in her mind, of her on his lap in the bedroom, whispering to him, his words following the memory, "And more. Be Mine, Pimm?" She looked at him, saw his mind open, vulnerable, putting himself out there, and realized how badly he wished to be with her.

Pimm slid her lower lip between her teeth, his voice soft, "I know, it's asking alot to become a lesser noble of Alderaan, Pimm, but I know you'll excel at it with me." She could only nod vigorously, not trusting her voice, leaping into his arms again, Ceci squealing with joy as she said yes. Pimm and Ja'on bumped foreheads, and he received his own mental image, the collar and binders in her pack right now, "Always, Master." The two kissed softly, before he put her down, and slid the signet onto her finger. Count Alde came over, "Lady Pimm, you are special to draw my grandson's eye and heart, and I welcome you to our family. Please, if you would allow me to plan the ceremony? We will of course ensure all you wish to be present will be."

While settling, Pimm once again found the datapad. While it certainly was possible Ja'on had all those memories backed up somewhere, he didn't seem the type to. After he came in from the field, before dinner, she was waiting for him in the bedroom. Her own conflict was high, because these were HIS and no one else's, but she couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Could she live up to Mira? Was he settling for her? As he came in, he looked to her, "What..what's wrong, Pimm?" She looked up, then silently handed him the datapad. Taking it, he gasped, softly, realizing what it was. Her voice subdued, "I've been meaning to get this to you, but WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" He had channeled the Force, electricity crawling across his arm before hitting, and frying, the datapad. He met her eyes, soft smile on his face, dropping the worthless device, and came to her. His hand came to her face, cradling it, but she felt his finger on her neck, the spot the scarred out brand had been. "Pimm, why would I want to hold onto my past, when my future is right here?"

The next week went by peacefully. Each day, Pimm was involved with Ceci, the Count, and Regina in planning the ceremony, though it was certainly going to be kept small. Ja'on was out in the fields, helping the vineyards, working the soil and vines, using the Force to urge the right growth. At night, he was spending an hour in a Kolto tank, as grafts were being grown for his face and torso. He and Pimm knew the extensive nature of the scars, and how deeply the metal had cooked him, would always leave a mark, but he was working on minimizing the effect it would have on his body.

It was a day off of work, still two weeks from the ceremony, Pimm and Ja'on in their room. "So, you're really safe now?" Ja'on shook his head, "Not fully, Pimm. None on the Council, save Darth Raskas, knew my face. However, she is no longer an issue." Pimm's eyes narrowed, "She demanded, with heavy risk to say no, my knowledge. I exposed her to all the holocrons I had learned from, and her mind was overwhelmed." Pimm's eyes went wide, terrified at the thought, "I was able to save her life, but she lost twenty years of her life. By Imperial records she is dead, but is now living with her mother who defected to the Republic almost two decades ago." Pimm nodded, "I see. So she's not a risk, but...." she trailed off knowing there was one or two left.

Ja'on nodded, "None in the Sith Order, nor the Imperial forces know me, save six." Pimm blinked, "Your guard from Dromund Kaas." He nodded, then his face scrunched up, "Speaking of, what the kriff is he doing here?" Pimm sat up straight, fear in her at his reaction, reaching out to the hall, sensing someone there. Someone familiar. Ja'on stood, moving to the hall, her a step behind, until they came close to the grand hall. Count Alde was talking, "And...you know my grandson?" A voice that Pimm recognized came next, eyes going wide as Ja'on tensed heavily, "Yes, M'Lord. Lord Ja'on Starri. He...he saved my life nearly a decade ago. And," Ja'on stepped into the hall, "What is a two-timing backstabbing nerf-herder like you doing here?" His voice was bright, but Pimm felt the murderous intent in his mind.

Mark, Cipher 3 of Imperial Intelligence, turned, eyes wide, "M'Lord!" Pimm could feel the shock, and joy, at seeing Ja'on, though she knew Ja'on would still cut him down in an instant. "I....I had recently ended a major obligation I had, and I knew from our meeting that Count Alde was your grandfather. I had come to see if he had heard from you." Ja'on nodded, easy smile on his face, and the two Force users could feel Mark's recognition of his precarious position. Ja'on laughed, motioning his head to the drawing room, Count Alde, oblivious to the pending violence, nodded them off.

Once in the drawing room, Mark first, then Ja'on, the agent took five quick steps, putting as much space between him and the former Sith Lord as he could, turning to face him, hands up as the lightsaber came to Ja'on's hand. "M'Lord, please, don't! Just, let me explain first!" Pimm was behind her betrothed, fearing his actions, but knowing the risk and threat Mark presented, and saw Ja'on's head nod a fraction. Mark sighed, "Cipher 3 is dead, M'Lord. After I received word of your death, I got the images and holofeed. The way he, just the disregard....Darth Thanaton was WAY out of line!" Ja'on's frame relaxed, "I have had a clone, never had a mental imprint, just a body, for if I ever had to leave. I faked my death during a mission, used my clone for my body. None in Intelligence know my face, M'Lord. I have left the Empire for how they did you wrong, and came here to....well...to tell the Count."

Ja'on relaxed further and further as Mark spoke, ending by sliding his lightsaber back into the sleeve it was being held in, Pimm appreciating the tailored tunic's ability to conceal the weapon and give no sign it was there. Mark did notice, but was still defensive, "M'Lord, I owe YOU. Not them. If, if you deem me a risk now, I accept that." He lowered his hand, offering a resigned smile, "But I hope you see the truth. I am done with the Empire, and came only to give your Grandfather closure. But, knowing you are alive, I...I hope maybe I. I don't know."

Pimm came up now, resting her hand on Ja'on's elbow, "Ja'on, shouldn't a noble have a man? Or whatever it's called?" He grinned at her, then to Mark, whose body was now relaxing, "What do you say, Mark? Can you be Lord Starri's man? Head of security, butler, and all that?" Mark laughed, warmly, coming up, extending his arm, the two men shaking, "It would be my most honorable pleasure, M'Lord!" He turned to Pimm now, "And, Pimm, correct? I recognize you from the files, which are gone. A freak virus wiping out so much information about the former Hand of the Council. Really weird." The former Jedi laughed, nodding, wrapping her arm into Ja'on's, "Yes, though I don't know what the right terminology would be, but I am Ja'on's betrothed."

Mark's eyes went wide, looking between the two, Ja'on actually blushing, "Then! M'Lord! Congratulations! I mean that, from the bottom of my heart!" Ja'on nodded, then spoke, "I do need a best man for the ceremony." Mark just nodded. A couple hours later, the trio eating alone in the kitchen, instead of the dining hall. "So, Mark, no one knows your face?" He shook his head, "No. Genna died, nine months ago. Exposure to a culture they were working on an antivirus for. Very sad, and I took it personally. Investigated it extensively, and it was accidental. Jarreth and his squad died in a heated firefight against Hutts trying to invade and overthrow Imperial work on Quesh." Ja'on nodded, and Pimm felt the pain of people he would have counted as friends dying.

The next week went by smoothly, when Pimm realized that the ceremony, so small it would almost be silly if not for how cozy it would be, was missing something dreadfully important. After telling Ja'on, and getting his permission, she was on a private shuttle, flying directly from Alderaan to Tython, only stopping by the Fleet to ensure any Imperial forces watching the planet wouldn't be able to trace her route. After landing, she traveled through the Temple, until she found who she was looking for. "Master," she whispered, Serah standing from the children she was teaching, the two meeting gazes. They had to wait for class to end, but the two walked the grounds. "You seem much....better Pimm! At peace! How are you coming along?" The Twi'lek grinned, hand on her stomach, "Well enough. I'll start showing shortly, I'm sure." Serah nodded, the two walking in silence, "So what brings you to Tython, Pimm? I know Master Satele said you are welcome, but I don't get the feeling you are here to meditate."

Pimm grinned, "Well, Serah, I'm....here to ask you for a favor." Serah looked over, eyebrows arched, "Yes?" Pimm laughed, nervous suddenly. "Well, Serah...I'm...betrothed. To get married." Serah's face went from pleasant to stark, lips thinning, and Pimm felt years of that gaze telling her she was making a mistake, but her grin only grew, "A noble. Of Alderaan. You would like him, Serah. Lord Aldolphis," at the name Serah's eyes went wide, "Ja'on Starri." Serah blinked a few times, processing the name, and Pimm nodded. "Aldolphis is his first name, but goes by his middle name. It just sounds better. He's one of Count Alde's grandchildren," Serah only nodded, "And he's finally made his way home. After thirty six years." Serah's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Serah, I'm asking you to be there? The ceremony is in a week. I know it's short timing, but he and I know this is right."

Serah came in close, "Pimm, are you certain? What if he...." Pimm only shook her head, "Ja'on Skarg, Darth Junath, Lord of Grief, died over Hoth. My fiance is loyal to the Republic, believes extensively in the Jedi Order's mission, and counts himself as an ally to both, in all regards." Serah processed the information, and Pimm grabbed her hand, and Serah felt her mind open, just ready to be explored, "I swear, Serah, if I even had a shadow of a doubt of his intent, I wouldn't be there. Please, Serah, you...you're my. My mother, my sister. I...I would love it, please, if you could attend? Be there for me?" Finally, Serah withdrew, sighing, "I will come and speak with your betrothed. If I approve," she offered a smile as Pimm's face fell, "I will gladly stay for the ceremony."

Soon, they were back on Alderaan, Ja'on meeting the Jedi Master and his betrothed at the dock. He led Serah to a private room, the two sitting, and she fell into his mind. He showed her his oath to the Sith, how Thanaton's betrayal hit him, and his devotion to Pimm and the Republic. While he offered, Serah did not finish the Unbroken Circle, believing him. Finally the two left the room, Serah smiling brightly to Pimm, "Is there a place in the ceremony for me, Pimm? Or am I just to attend?"

The last week passed quickly, a new red astrogation droid wandering the halls, Pimm recognizing the whistles of an R7 unit, and Ja'on confirmed, he had gotten R7-D6 a new chassis. The day of the ceremony came, too quickly it seemed. It was short, their vows to each other similar in attesting devotion and adoration, but his vows more focused on taking care of her, guiding and loving her, while hers were to serve him and be his. Nothing overt, but the two, as well as Serah, knew the deeper meaning of the specific words, and Ja'on and Pimm felt Serah's approval, knowing the two were well suited for each other.

Mark stood by Ja'on, as Serah stood by Pimm, each attending to the groom and bride's needs, then the celebration following the ceremony stayed small, but it was festive. That night, Serah took the private shuttle back to Tython, Pimm and Ja'on taking their second night together, first as equals, then she slid on the outfit she knew he loved the most as well as her binders and collar. The following days were a blur, ensuring the proper paperwork was filed, that her status as a Lady be finalized. The fifth day following the ceremony, however, was a hitch.

Ja'on and Mark were in the field, Pimm in the Halls, ensuring that when time came, the three and R7 could leave without issue. She heard a small commotion from the great hall, feeling a disturbance. While they all felt safe, the risk still existed that Ja'on could be discovered. She took her lightsaber, learning from Ja'on and Mark the art of truly hiding her weapon when she didn't want it to be seen, moving to the hall. There was a man, agitated, all but arguing with the Count, "But, I KNOW he's here. The reports show it!" Count Alde sounded exasperated, "And I tell you, Sir, that no agents loyal to the Empire are in MY house, and I am growing annoyed with your insistence otherwise!" She'd never seen the old man worked up, but knew that accusations of dishonor were the fastest way to get that reaction.

The other man, who Pimm started to feel, a sense of familiarity, "But. I'm not saying you KNOW he's an Imp! But he's here. Just, let me look around, alright?" The Count was growing beyond irate, to anger, "I do wish my grandson was here right now. He knows how to deal with those without a proper sense of deference much easier than I. Again, there are no agents, spies, or anyone otherwise loyal to the Empire in my house, Sir, now drop this issue at ONCE." Sensing how ugly it was about to get, Pimm finished entering the Hall, ready to defend her, and the thought itself was enough to make her giddy, Grandfather. In law, but still. "M'Lord, I heard a disturbance, is everything alright?"

The two men turned and looked at her, Count Alde's face brightening, voice growing less irate, "My dear! No, this...mercenary is insisting that an agent of the Empire has infiltrated my house! Forgive me, I know you are busy, but could you?" Pimm grinned and nodded, finally turning to the other man, her eyes widening, seeing the scarred visage of Darreck. His own face was bright at seeing her, "Pimm! I'm glad it's you! A Jedi would be very useful!" She shook her head, turning back to the Count, "We will be in the drawing room, M'Lord." The Count smiled and nodded, the Twi'lek leading the mercenary to the office, closing the door.

Darreck was instantly alight, "Master Pimm! It is good to see you! I know, it's only been what, two months since Tatooine? But here we are! I'm telling you, the Count is mad. There IS an agent here. You remember that hutt-spawn that killed my brothers? I buried, him, but I have learned it was a Cipher. I don't know the designation, but Imperial Intelligence! Reports show him dead, but I have people saying he's here! Right now!" Pimm just gave him a serene smile as he spilled his guts, finally speaking, "Darreck, I promise you, there are no agents here." Darreck threw his hands up in frustration, "Everyone says that, but no one is CHECKING!" She moved to him, resting a hand on his arm, "Darreck, if you don't believe me, perhaps you would speak with my husband? He should be here in just a moment."

This made Darreck freeze, looking at the former Jedi, eyes wide. "Husband? What, did they trap you? Are you ok Pimm?" She laughed, waving, "No, nothing like that! I have separated from the Order, Darreck. Love, and devotion, have found me. The Count's grandson? He is my husband." The door opened behind Darreck, "And here he is now." Darreck turned to the door, eyes wide as Ja'on walked in, recognizing him from when he took the former Sith to Tython. A blur of movements happened all at once. Pimm's hand took Darreck's sidearm as he reached for it, Ja'on finished entering the room and the door closed a moment later, Mark behind him, two vibroblades drawn and ready, but the behemoth spoke, softly, "Enough." No one dared move after that, well Darreck and Mark didn't. Pimm just moved and rested against the desk.

Ja'on gave the former havoc squad member a smile, "Darreck, it is good to see you. What are you doing here?" The command from earlier had carried with it a heaviness, a warning, one not to be tested, so Darreck managed to keep his calm, pointing at Mark, "I know he's a Cipher, Ja'on. I knew he was alive, and here he is. And, lo and behold, so is Darth," but Ja'on's glare stopped that name from being uttered. Then, Pimm's husband lifted his chin, "Some clarification, Darreck. I am Aldolphis Ja'on Starri, second born son of Count Alde's first born child. I was abducted by pirates thirty six years ago. The Sith saved me twenty six years ago. I was loyal to them, until they killed me. I was smart enough to not be there when my ship was vaporized." Pimm came to Darreck, resting her hand on his arm, "It's true, I've checked."

Mark spoke up next, "And you are right, I was a cypher agent. But after the Dark Council would have killed Ja'on, I left. I faked my death, had a clone that never lived, never had a mental map imprinted, as a body. I have left, and serve My Lord and the Republic now. And I don't give two damns if you believe me, but if you threaten him, I WILL kill you." Darreck looked between the three, and Ja'on and Pimm could feel the gears at work, before Pimm waved her hand and a chair slid behind Darreck as he fell into it. "Ok, suppose I believe you all, what then?" Ja'on lifted his chin, showing the still healing scars, "When I am healed enough, Darreck, we move. We are loyal." The four sat in silence, then Ja'on finally spoke, "You know, as a Lord, while I have my wife, and my man, I do need a proper captain of a guard, Darreck. I get the feeling you don't like being your own boss."

The mercenary laughed and shook his head, "I don't, honestly. Wait...what?" He looked at Ja'on, who grinned, "I'm offering you a job, as it were. You come with us. You can see for yourself the truth." Pimm grinned at her husband, who gave her a wink back, as Darreck and Mark looked at each other. Pimm shook her head, "Get it out now boys. I don't want to keep hearing it." Mark nodded, "If I find you working against us, I will kill you in your sleep." Darreck's lips pursed, "If I find out you're feeding the Empire information, there won't be a body to recover." For a moment, Mark regarded him, then grinned, sheathing his blades. "Fair enough. Darreck, I'm Mark. I...I am sorry. For Tatooine." The Merc looked down, lips in a smile, "It's ok, thank you. We knew what we signed for, and you were at least clean. And," he grinned himself now, "you were trying to suppress at first."

Finally, four days later, the group had finished getting their dynamics straightened out. A week after that, Ja'on's face and body were as healed as they would be. The three humans, Twi'lek, and R7 boarded the BT7, Ja'on sliding into the pilot's seat. Once familiarized with the controls, the ship slid smoothly from dock, taking to the atmosphere, Pimm in the captain's quarters, who all agreed belonged to Ja'on and her now, setting it up for them, Mark sitting at the navigation suite, Darreck just whistling, "None of us were ever that smooth, boss." Ja'on chuckled, as the blackness of space filled the front viewport, "Now, let's go help the galaxy," before the ship accelerated, and tore through space.


End file.
